Chrono Trigger Omega Episode 001 Nightrunner
by A. Maximillian Russell
Summary: Nightrunner is the first episode in a major crossover founded on the legendary Super Nintendo RPG Chrono Trigger by SquareEnix, as well as starring characters from other anime, video game, and cartoon series. The End Has Begun...
1. Midnight Marauder

Chrono Trigger Omega  
Episode Zero Zero One - "Nightrunner"  
Character Interlude One - "Midnight Marauder"

I love this.

The rain that showers from above has completely drenched my clothes. But I'm so happy I don't care.

I've walked in the rain for so many years that I look forward to it now. One of the few constants I've had in my long life.

The women prostrated before me aren't so excited to be caught in the weather. Their circumstances might have something to do with it, however.

My back is to the shore of the ocean behind me. The waves crash angrily against my heels as the sky roars overhead us, with a vicious wind whipping anything it can that dares to be in the alfresco, including my platinum-blonde locks. Despite not wearing it for years, my pearl white uniform still holds up well under this soaked-situation, unlike the tattered medieval dresses of my current opposition.

One of the women, a platinum-blonde maven, sat on her rear, glaring at me in disbelief. Another, raven haired-one, was on her hands and knees shivering from exhaustion and fear. And at the center, one adorned a mop of shock-white hair and found herself positioned on one knee, looking up at me with a look of defeat in her eyes. Save for their varying hair colors, each woman looked perfectly identical to the next.

Not that I take pleasure in accosting anyone, but these enchanted ladies tried to be forceful with ejecting me from their precious island. After looking for this place for so long, you would think they would congratulate me for finally arriving.

I really owe _those two_ for guiding me here, whoever they are. My premonitions tell me that these women know where those two are, and now defeated, they're in no position to deny me anything.

"Do you submit?" I asked, but with a smile. I don't take their magical assault minutes earlier, personally. Matter of fact, it was actually fun playing around with them for awhile. The last time I engaged in a fight of that caliber was back in my ACT-Raiser days. Feels like an eternity ago.

If anyone poses a potential threat to your home, you'd want to exile them too, right? I guess fighting back won't help me convince them that I mean them and 'Avalon' no harm, but you take what you can, I guess.

"What do you wish of us, stranger?" the Snow-white crowned one asked.

"What business do you have here?" the Raven snapped.

"Do you plan to wage war with Oberon's children?" also chimed the blonde, "If so-"

"Please, I honestly don't mean to be a threat to you and your home," I sighed, a little embarrassed that they were so frightened. Walking up to Snow-White, I kneeled down, taking her hand, "Actually, I've been looking for a place to call my home for a long time. I'd like it to be here, but it looks like your people aren't too keen on new neighbors." I send a pulse of my aura to the woman that says more than my words can prove. She pulls her hands away in shock of what she feels.

My hopes. My dreams. My fears. My loneliness. My despair. All felt within an instant to the very core of her soul. Her eyes widen and then narrow with a gaze of sympathy.

"Who...are...you?" her voice shook in reverence, "You've walked the Earth for THAT long?" her compatriots were catching on also.

"You can't possibly be human..." stated the Raven, who crawled closer to Snow. The Blonde did likewise. I pulled back the drenched locks that covered my ears to show them their pointed "uniqueness".

"The magic you defeated us with did feel 'elvan', but I would have never believed any of your kind still existed," the blonde one responded.

"Speaking truthfully, my origin is not of this world. And to answer the first question, I would like it if you called me 'Jade'. It's not my real name, but I abandoned that along with my old life a great while ago."

"Our master and father, Oberon, decreed that no other beings, especially of our caliber, could take up residence on Avalon. It's bad enough that those 'mortals' refuse to leave," explained the oh-so-cheerful Raven.

"You must be talking about the humans and gargoyles that live here too. I sensed them as I stepped foot on Avalon. Being a student of time, I'd like to meet them too. There's so much I'd like to learn from them."

"First we must take you to Master Oberon before anything else," Snow-white spoke again, standing with the others. I rose as well.

"I have one request before we do," I asked, "I was guided here by two people that you have in enchanted sleep."

"What are you talking-"

"Please, I've been honest with you so far and, following our fight, as reasonable as possible. All I ask is that you be straight with me about this."

"How much do you know?" Snow-white's tone changed to a serious one again.

"When I took your hand, you weren't the only one to receive something, Luna," I spoke her name to her surprise, "and these are your siblings, Phoebe," my hand motioned to the raven, "and Selene." and in turn, the blonde one as well, "I never thought I'd meet the 'Weird Sisters' that Shakespeare wrote about, but stranger things have happened," I said with a subdued giggle.

"Not even our master knows about them, and we've kept them hidden from everyone here," Selene spoke, her voice tingling with panic.

"I could help you with that situation if you'd let me. Besides I owe those two a debt of gratitude since it was their dreams that guided me here," my explanation intrigued them, "if you take me to them, I'll explain my idea there. Otherwise, you wouldn't want father-dearest to find out what you've been keeping under his nose."

"Blackmail? And just when we were starting to look up to you..." Phoebe smirked.

"I just hate to see two free-spirits locked away unjustly. My plan not only will be doing you a favor, but for them as well.

"I'll only ask this nicely once more; will you take me to them?"

To Be Continued...

Next Chapter - "Midnight"


	2. Midnight

Chrono Trigger Omega  
Episode Zero Zero One - "Nightrunner"  
Prologue - "Midnight"

He darts in darkness.

The world around him is pitch black. No moon. No skyline. Nothing but a void. Sweet irony if you knew the young man's alias.

Despite not being able to see anything before his frantic pace, the man doesn't lose stride for a second, deathly afraid what could be gaining upon his tail.

One could easily hear what was in pursuit of him, and the stampede of many trampling shoes behind him would be enough to send the most cool headed into a panic. The expected reaction to a mob (or the sound of one) on your heels was one the young man didn't have to deliberate on for too long.

He ran like hell. And from the sound of things, he might be running from that as well.

Light slowly started to fill the scenery around him, and his eyes adjusted painfully to take it all in. The dimly lit world he raced across was desolate. Dead trees and shrubbery. Cracked dried ground. Jagged mountains draped across the landscape. Not an ounce of color to be found anywhere, as if the world was drenched in monotone.

This hellhole looked familiar to him, but he had no time to wax upon that as he concentrated on running for his life. He dared not look behind him, but his ears were not deceived, a shadowy mass of people numbering over one-hundred strong was almost on top of him. Only a few meters between them.

Before his feet could fail him, the honor went to terra-firma as the target of the mob's rage slid to a stop - short of careening over an inconvenient cliff. He immediately whipped around to find himself barred from any avenue of escape, the crowd had quickly seen to that.

Gazing mournfully into the shadowy mass of pursuers with nothing behind him but inevitable death, the man stood haggard. His breath still spent from the chase but returning to a less-terrified rhythm as he tried to find the courage to speak. Regardless of the lack of color, it was apparent that the young man was of African-descent and was dressed in an uncommon uniform made of mostly onyx fibers, but highlighted with white trimming. Underneath the threads, one would find a physical frame in prime-condition, standing at an even 6 feet and sporting a mop of braids that framed his sweat-beaded face and reached past his shoulders. The weak light source in the distance still managed to reflect in his glasses, hiding the fear that manifested in his eyes and heart.

"Nowhere left to run, is there, 'Nightrunner'?" spoke a smarmy voice from the head of the crowd. Stepping from the unholy shadows was a tall and equally young man with shock-white long hair and wearing a uniform similar to his captured prey. He seemed to be of Native American heritage, but with the poor light that would be more of a guess than an observation.

A strange thing happened to "Nightrunner", the young Nubian man that stood before them, once he laid eyes on the tall mob leader. A nervous smile formed on his lips as he finally found the courage to speak.

"Wintersnake?" Nightrunner whispered nervously.

"You remember that I gave you that name, right, Nightrunner?" Wintersnake said with harshness in his voice, "Not that I ever thought that you'd really run away from what you need to face, like a coward. I truly misjudged you."

"Wait, please," Nightrunner began to plead in his defense, "I was ready to die with you-"

"You murdered us!" Wintersnake countered, enraged, "You sided with 'her' and with that damn beast, sacrificing us all!"

"That's not true!"

"Then why did you live..." another voice, more calming than Wintersnake's sounded from the crowd. It belonged to an alluring young female who emerged from them. Much like Nightrunner, she was of Nubian descent, only her skin-tone was a bit lighter. She was about the only one not uniformed, donning a simple dress that didn't fail to show off her sensual, yet fair body. Her hair was long and had bounce, but thanks to the drowning out of color, you could only guess if she was a brunette or a redhead, "when we all died?"

The very sight of her made Nightrunner fall to his knees, his body shivering in shock and ecstasy of seeing her once again, despite the dilemma he found himself in.

"Oh...Xia..." Nightrunner could hold back the tears no longer, and did they ever flow. Tears of happiness. Tears of regret. Tears of unforgivable sorrow, "I failed you...I failed you all..." between his hands, the earth ground up in his balling fists as his body racked with grief. Suddenly he felt warmth to his cheek. It was Xia's hand, looking up to find her kneeling with him and a warm smile on her face.

"You can't run forever, Max. Retribution comes to everyone. Until you face it, we will haunt you forever."

"Then haunt me!" his hand held hers against his cheek, "I deserve all the torture your restless souls can bestow. I'd kill myself except I...can't...d-"

"Suicide won't set things right either," Xia spoke as softly as Nightrunner remembered, "that's only running away too."

"Then what am I to do?" he was on the verge of emotional collapse, "Tell me so I can own up to all of you..."

"You have to find that answer yourself..." Xia's voice started to echo into nothingness as she and the mob behind her faded away into nothingness. Nightrunner was in shock for a moment until he felt what was the warmth on his cheek. His hand was coated in blood - presumably Xia's, as he stared at it in horror. Despite being in a colorless world, it dripped from him all it's crimson glory.

An ear-piercing shriek demolished what was left of his composure, and his eyes quickly returned to what was ahead of him. Instead of a crowd of ghosts, he found the silhouette of a behemoth of a monster, one the size of half a stadium before him as he limply stood to his feet. His blood stained hand balled into a fist of fury as his expression on his face changed to match that. The fist suddenly engulfed itself in blue flames that raged uncontrollably as his eyes narrowed at the roaring, shadowed beast. The sound of it's unearthly cry had haunted him for almost as long as he could remember. In his heart, he desperately searched for the courage to take on the predator at his front, starting to charge it with fists ablaze in blue fire. Nightrunner let out a furious cry of his own as he advanced.

The mouth of the beast slowly drew open as the lone man raced towards it, and within it, a light had emanated, growing ever brighter by the second. Seconds before he was upon the monster a ray of white-hot death washed upon Nightrunner's body, sweeping him up into oblivion.

A heartbeat before the end came, he could feel arms wrap around his waist from behind, almost lovingly. A whisper penetrated his ear.

"Come for me, Nightrunner. I'll be waiting..."

A chill wind blew across the room from the open balcony doors. When he realized where he was, Nightrunner found himself sitting up in his bed, covered in a cold sweat.

His racing heart slowed down to a regular pace as his breathing followed suit. Looking down, he noticed his tense grip on the blanket draped over his legs and eventually relaxed his hands. Unlike the nightmare he emerged from, Nightrunner was now dressed in no more than normal gray boxers, as his usual sleep attire were, while on his face he wore a look of distress. It faded to one of relief while exhaling a stressful sigh.

"Again...that nightmare again...wha-?" finally at a calm, a stark realization it him as his focus moved to the balcony doors straight ahead of him, "I thought I closed those..."

Before he was able to even step out of bed, his eyes spied a shooting star, beyond the balcony and falling into the mountain range in the far distance. The floor was as cold as he expected thanks to the chilliness of the outdoors blowing into his bedroom, walking tiredly to his balcony to do the obvious. It still bothered him that the doors were even open, but he was too tired to dwell on it at the moment. It was just about midnight and he had only begun to get some shuteye.

Halfway from the bed to the terrace, Nightrunner suddenly stopped cold in his tracks. Three silhouettes materialized on the balcony covered by shadows cast by the full moons behind them. The moons matched the number of the strangers that stood before him.

The form of each of the mysterious visitors seemed to be identically perfect - obviously young, dimensions that were blatantly feminine, and each wearing jumpsuits of an ornate design. He couldn't make out much of their details with the exterior light working against his vision, plus his glasses were still over by the bed. And at such an inconvenient time too. A strong wind gusted into them all, leaving their long hair to sway in the air along with Nightrunner's thin braids.

"Are you Nightrunner?" one of the women asked in an authoritative tone. Nightrunner might have found himself in the midst of three potentially beautiful women (moonlight shadows notwithstanding), but he was still annoyed that these ladies were being as bold as they were.

"And who the hell are you?" he smirked, "How do you even know of me, let alone find me?"

"We have our methods," Nightrunner could swear another one of the women spoke this time, yet it sounded like the same voice.

"Do they include breaking into a man's home in the middle of the night?" he asked in jest, yet with an air of spite, "That kind of rude behavior is more fitting for criminals, not nice ladies such as yourselves."

"He is just as his description," the third finally spoke, again with an identical voice, "A brash recluse with weak social graces-"

"Guess word gets around," he smiled genuinely, "the only question is 'who's talking about me?' There's no one left alive or conscious that knows who I really am or how to reach me. Sorry you women came all this way, but I'm not up for entertaining guests right now.

"Or ever."

"We must insist," the first to speak of the trio, the woman at the center, stated, "We require your services to help us with a problem."

"There's only one thing I could help you ladies with right now..." a sly expression could be found on Nightrunner's face as he motioned behind him, "and unless it involves that bed, this conversation won't be going much further."

"And a pervert too," the third one who had her description interrupted, continued on queue, "I'm not surprised."

"A man can dream, can't he? And on that note, that's what I plan on doing once I escort you three out of my house."

"Are you as rude to other women as you've been to us, 'Mr. Ramnarine'?" asked the second woman. The mention of his last name startled him for a second.

"Only to presumptuous strangers who think they can get away with pleasantries when they've already perpetrated on protocol," Nightrunner had become deathly serious, on the realization that these women might know more about him than he was comfortable with, "the debate is over. Please leave."

"Whether it be by consent or by force, Maximillian, you will assist us," the first one again stated their demand.

"I'm not one for domestic violence but with those options, I'll have to vie for the latter, m'lady," a villain's smile beamed across Nightrunner's lips, "I hope you're prepared."

"Save your concerns for yourself," the center countered, and before Nightrunner could react, the entire room flooded with light from where the trio was standing. Squinting his eyes thanks to the blinding illumination, he positioned himself in a defensive pose as something suddenly washed over him. The sensation was absolutely soothing, but the young man found himself disturbed by what he could make out before him. The shadowed forms of the women appeared to be merging into one another leaving a much Amazonian silhouette in its stead.

He realized quickly what the sensation was just as the light was starting to fade - clothes materializing over his frame. Not just any apparel, but the same black uniform he had worn in his dream, complete with slick onyx boots and charcoal gray gauntlets to match. Once the surrounding light faded to reveal the courtyard in front of a sprawling estate, he also noticed that his vision was glasses-enhanced.

The courtyard was something that was a source of mixed feelings to Nightrunner. Roses of all colors and types decorated the landscape around them as he stood on a wide walkway, roughly ten meters from the, now one, woman at his front. Between them flowed an elegantly designed fountain with several pools of water springing forth from it.

His eyes were trained on the amazon of a woman across the walkway. Standing a half a foot taller than the young man, her aqua-blue skin radiated in the light of the moons above. The armor she wore was of an unconventional, or alien, design but was titillating, revealing enough of her body to almost make the suit impractical. Maybe it was psychological, making the opponent think there were vulnerable spots on her only to find that her own abilities would make those spots impenitratible. The answer could have been even simpler; distracting males of a more perverted mindset and causing them lose focus during a battle. To Nightrunner, these could all be factors, but he knew couldn't be that easily swayed just by scantily clad opposition.

The kicker to this unearthly looking female wasn't her blue epidermis or even her long and oddly violet locks, however. Observing her face, one would find not one or two eyes, but three - much like a triclops of legend with the extra one centered above the two normal eyes, nested in her forehead. All three were the clearest of blue eyes he had ever witnessed, and at the moment Nightrunner couldn't read what was behind them.

"Well...we're outside. Mission accomplished," he congratulated her, sarcastically and starting to turn away towards the estate, "now I'm going to bed. Next time, figure out a better approach when you're looking for a favor."

"This isn't over until you resign your obstinence or one of us is dead," she finally spoke stopping Nightrunner's casual retreat. Her voice was the same as when the women were separate, but this time it carried an eerie echo as if all three women were speaking at once, "do you submit?"

Those words rushed at Nightrunner like the coldest breeze that could tingle your spine to numbness. Like a blinding right cross, he received a flashback of someone he had fought hard to forget all these years that he spent in seclusion. To hear them spoken by someone not nearly as dangerous had definitely put fire in his ire.

"No, bitch..." he growled through gritted teeth, "...I don't."

"Then..." as she spoke, something materialized in her hands. A fantastic and lavishly crafted katana sword, complete with a mystifying blade forged of transparent, prismatic metal. Nightrunner's eyes narrowed as he recognized it immediately, "...let us begin."

"First you break into my place, and now you take the Rainbow Katana from my-" the sensation of something materializing underneath his clothes and behind his back paused him in mid-statement. What appeared behind his waist was an all-too-familiar item to him, reaching his hand behind him to confirm its existence. For the moment, Nightrunner decided to keep it concealed, returning his eyes forward, "how consider- hey!"

Using the distraction to her advantage, she rushed him holding the sword like an avenging samurai. Her form was perfect, but Ramnarine was no fool. With inhuman speed he avoided her first swipe with precision. While throwing himself aside, he unveiled the item, a silver rod about six inches in length and an inch in diameter thickness.

"Your mastery of time is admirable," she remarked sidling while placing her sword in front of her again. Nightunner sidled as well, now curiously holding the rod in his left hand as if the small device would serve him some divine purpose, "just like we were told."

"Someone has loose lips," Nightrunner remarked, annoyed, but before he could continue she charged again. All the young Nubian had was a fraction of time to defend otherwise he would find himself headless.

Even that epoch in time was enough for him, however. Around his left hand, energy resembling ghostly blue flames exploded, changing the rod from six inches to one stretching five feet. He had it in position to block he sword just in time, but the strength that the triclops brought with it was unexpected. This woman was strong, like three women put together. Nightrunner got the joke of his predicament while he fought hard to stay the woman's blade and shifted himself out of harm's way.

The triclops tried several other strategic slices upon Nightrunner, but he read each calmly and deflected them appropriately, using her own power to push him away from immediate death everytime.

"Those flames from your hand..." she observed, momentarily calling off her assault to regroup her options, "so it is tr-"

"Kindly shut the fuck up," Nightrunner had just about enough of the enigmatic advisories the woman was given about him before she arrived at his balcony doorstep. He knew if he asked who sent her that she'd wouldn't cough up the info. Besides, she hadn't even introduced her separate alter egos yet - what would make him think that she would be forthcoming with anything else?

She rebounded with a sudden upswing trying to slash him across the chest, or at least knock the weapon out of his hands. She succeeded as the rod went flying upward. However, her adversary was no longer in her sight, but what couldn't be seen definitely could be felt. Nightrunner delivered a flurry of fire charged blows all over her upper torso, resonating pain throughout her body, and as her body buckled forward, still holding the sword above her, her chin was met by the heel of his right foot connecting with a damaging upright kick. As she toppled backward, his metal staff dropped right back into his left hand.

"Are we finished here?" Nightrunner asked calmly, facing away from the fallen woman, now bleeding oily black blood from her lips. She sat up and regained her grip on the Rainbow Katana, using it as a crutch to regain her footing.

"You're different now," she smiled despite the pain of his assault, "You're worth fighting..."

Circling around Nightrunner's feet rose a raging, yet contained inferno of blue flame. Standing at its apex, he turned his head enough to see her in the corner of his right eye. She could see the murderous intent in it, and her devious smile only broadened.

"In some circles of combat, when you cause someone to bleed that requires that your adversary kill you - a result I understand completely. But if you want to continue this nonsense, ladies, know that I will end you."

"I would expect no less, Maximillian Ramnarine," she placed herself in a defensive stance, expecting him to play the next move. She was right as rain.

Like a candle with its flame snuffed out, the barrier of flame vanished with nothing but smoke remaining. Nightrunner had disappeared as well. If it wasn't for her third eye, she might have not glimpsed her attacker materialize above her spinning his staff with killer velocity. On the descent, he brought it down upon her like Thor's hammer, only to catch the sturdy prowess of the Rainbow.

The cobblestone of the walkway cracked when Nightrunner brought the staff down vertically with the ground, using it as a brace while throwing his feet into the woman's stomach. The kicks caused her to slide backwards, but as she regained her footing she could see him vertically revolving the staff around him while casually advancing. The rotations of the rod started a phenomenon that rippled the air as the revolutions around him increased in speed. Within an instant, the staff ignited in neon-blue flames, in which he took the weapon in both hands and swung an arc of fire in her direction. Many were to follow as his onslaught began.

Spiritual flames were a hard thing to defend against, even if you are using a spectacular weapon like the Rainbow, the triclops discovered. She swatted as many projectiles of blue fire out of the air that she could but inevitably her defenses ran out. The remaining splashed upon her and raged over her body as Nightrunner made his move. Racing behind the last airborne arcs, he used the staff to break the sword from her weakened grasp and commenced to return his weapon to it's natural state. While one hand put it away, he brought around another to deliver a damaging punch to her chest. The flames that ravaged her snuffed out instantly once he connected the hit, but her will kept her standing, regaining her senses faster than he predicted.

Nightrunner barely ducked the sharp swing of her right fist, while his hands pushed down a potentially threatening knee thrust to his descending jaw. Instead of throwing himself away from her, he pressed onward, throwing an uppercut that she deflected with her left arm and open palm. Other attempts at punching her failed as she blocked and deflected his barrage of attacks, her reaction speed quickly adjusting to his.

The opening came. Nightrunner threw in a kick to her midsection and she caught it at the heel. Threatening to break his ankle by twisting it suddenly, he lifted his body off of the ground swinging his other leg at her head as retribution. Tough luck on his part when she caught the other one with efficiency. She finally had him.

Using her resounding strength, the triclops made her play to slam him face first into the stones of the walkway. Predicting that move, Nightrunner swung and curled his body underneath her spread legs, using the momentum to throw himself free and drawing his staff on the upswing. Just as she tried to turn around, the weapon was already at her back, and a distressed look displayed on her face. Banging his enflamed right fist into his end of the staff, the charge of the energy traveled through it and exploded into her back. The impact violently hurled her body 15 meters as she tumbled by the fountain. Nightrunner wasted no time as he raced after her, charging up his rod with flames for one final strike. Landing on her stomach, her body quivered as she made a discovery on the spot she landed. In the meanwhile, her charging opponent jumped into the air, aiming the spiritually engulfed rod in a position to kill on his landing.

There was a impaling.

Nightrunner looked down to find most of the inches of the Rainbow Katana run through his still beating heart. His exploding attack from before couldn't have had a more unfortunate outcome as he realized he had thrown her towards the one thing that would turn the battle on it's head.

Deep scarlet poured from his lips and his chest, all over the sword and the woman that trumped him in her final desperate move. Dropping his staff, he smiled unexpectedly at the shock in her eyes, slumping tiredly to his knees and further forward on the blade. To Nightrunner, this was another irony to find humor in, before his final moment.

"Check...mate..." he muttered with his final breath, and with that his eyes closed.

Nightrunner was dead.

The triclops took a moment to soak it all in. The young man that was so full of life a moment ago and was so ready to snatch her's was no longer, still kneeling as he grew cold. She pulled the sword from his chest and threw it in the fountain, spreading blood throughout it's rippling waters. Cradling his fallen form in her arms, the triclops didn't wear an expression of victory or satisfaction. Only pity could be found, almost regretting that things had gone this far south between them.

As a final gesture she carried him back inside his mansion home, swallowed up from view by the shadows within.

To be continued...

Next Chapter - "Flashfire Interlude"


	3. Flashfire Interlude

Chrono Trigger Omega  
Episode Zero Zero One - "Nightrunner  
Character Interlude Two - "Flashfire Interlude"

It always starts out this way.

I feel like I'm weightless. Hell, at that point I don't even know who I am. The ghostly darkened corridor I lazily find myself drifting through is filled with wafts of fog all around.

It's cold. Not so much 'freezing', but that kind of lingering cold that gets under your skin and chills you to the bone if you give it enough chance. It's frightening enough to not know where you are but to know who you are in a place this unnerving is down right torture.

However, the fun hasn't begun yet. Glimpses of a past unknown to me appear in flashes of light around me, bringing moments of light to the cloudy tunnel as my drift gradually increases in speed. I'm not sure if it's my imagination, but it feels like temperature is starting to rise for the better too.

The flashing moments are a relief to witness while I start to comprehend that they might have something to do with me after all.

Life through the eyes of a child as his life begins. The first time his eyes open and they rest upon the woman that brought him into this world. The restless nights of crying for his parents attention. When he adventures into crawling, then upgrades to the dangers of those first steps.

There are faces he sees of those he should remember. His lively mother. His tall and stern father. His oldest and far too pushy sister. His other older sister, who he'd notice, was quiet & solemn, sitting up nights alone and wondering why she couldn't function during the day like other children.

Danielle! That's her name! How could I ever forget the name of my own sister? She really had it rough didn't she? Then there's Rashel and my parents. Those were the days when it just was the five of us. That didn't last long. The twins. Idrina and Xana. Found myself to be the older brother and the middle child in the same stroke.

Things are speeding up as the corridor's cloudiness becomes clearer. The flashes are coming at a faster rate too. Elementary school. Pop's new reassignment orders. Us moving. Transition to middle school. More moving. High School. Last move. Brooklyn. One strange night. Those eyes. Intense. Desperation. Incense & Peppermints? A Dream? Senior Year. First Job. Unrequited Love. Bittersweet life lessons. Graduation. College.

Was this me? My life seemed so normal. Something isn't right. Am I supposed to remember this? Sure feels warm in here…

A memory shatters right in front of me. In the shards I see myself with Danielle and Idrina. That's right, I used to call them "Ella" & "Jojo". We're much older now. Late teens. Early twenties. Walking together. Taking shortcut through construction site.

Fatal mistake.

Shady characters. Expecting us. I stall. Hope sisters escape. Captured. Construction elevator. Upward. Unfinished skyscraper. The slowly revealing skyline. My executioner stands before me.

That red beret. Those knives. Pathetic self-defense attempt. Strategic knife throws. Tortured. Crippled. Covered in blood. Slumped against elevator railing. Final blow. Dagger pierces heart. The world fades from view.

Death.

The corridor washes over in white light. What once was warm returns to stark cold again. What I once witness in memories returns to a fading echo while I struggle to retain what I once knew. The speed increases as the light fades and flashes of new memory decorate the tunnel.

Eyes open. Operating table lights. Strangers in shadow stand over me. Can't remember anything.

I have no name.

My existence is explained to me. A protector of time and space. An "ACT-Raiser". Assigned to a white-haired man. Looks the same age as me. Seems much older. "Wintersnake". Says he was a 'shaman' in his 'former' life. Gives me a name. "Nightrunner". Oversees my training for being an "ACT-Raiser". I step into the fourth dimension.

Training complete. Transferred to the espionage division. Become a subordinate of a enigmatic woman. Her eyes pierce my soul.

Those emerald green eyes. One could become lost in them.

Rough beginnings. Still our missions are successes. She is distant. I am forgiving. Time spent together passes. Weeks. Months. Years. Decades.

Centuries.

Still we never age. Artificial Chrono Trigger. What they put inside of me when I was revived. A blessing and a curse wrapped in one. She has one too. All A.C.T.-Raisers do.

Sent on one particular mission. We encounter individuals seeking to revive the worst threat to existence. She is exposed to it's power. I rescue her from it in time. She is worse for wear. Nurse her back to health.

Post-recovery. She seems different. More emotionally attached to me. I am severely charmed by her. Love is in eyes that once were cold. Romance ensues. We make love.

Mission on Earth. Atlantic City. World seems familiar. Can't quite remember why. Unconventional proposal. She accepts. We marry on the boardwalk. Private ceremony. Justice of the peace. Marriage not condoned by our agency, but it meant something to us.

More time. I travel faster. The flashes are more rapid fire. Warmth has return to the tunnel. I love her. She lets me into her heart. Something else resides there. Curiosity. About what effected her when exposed to that power. Start to suspect that she's keeping secrets from me. The heat rises.

Separation. Made a solo-agent. She is also given the same rank. Spend decades apart on missions. Learn fighting techniques on many worlds. Train other agents. Best student is a quiet girl. Equinox is Wintersnake's name for her. She is made a 'sweeper'. Lose touch with Equinox. Separated from her too on more missions.

Become used to solitude and taking false identities. Never knew myself to begin with. Encounter interesting and dangerous people. Daisy. Must be one everywhere.

Given special mission. Protect the events of the 'first encounter'. Undercover at the Millenia Fair. Almost jeopardize those events. Cross paths with HIS mother. Olive-haired woman. Tells me I look like someone she used to know. Her eyes. Intense. Familiar. Inspires a flood of emotions I can't comprehend.

"Max".

Why is that name familiar to me? The mystery within me grows.

Complete mission. Return to base with burning questions. Wintersnake can't answer them. Points me in the right direction. Manhattan. 1999. I take a long vacation.

Chance encounter. Meet a girl who I find familiar but don't know. Become fast friends. Idrina. Tells me to call her "Jojo". I remind her of her brother. Wants me to meet him. She has a life-threatening incident. Her brother is killed in that incident. Her sister saves her during the incident, only to almost kill Idrina in the process. She turns to me for support. Falls in love with me. Can't requite her feelings due to a strong intuition.

I abandon Idrina.

Severe regret. Private exile brings across another familiar person. Daisy?

A year later. Dreams. They call me to where the incident happened. The building is completed. I infiltrate and ride the elevator to the top floor. Just like the dreams instruct. The doors open. I find someone waiting for me.

The ghost of Maximillian Ramnarine.

A hallucination? The missing piece of my former life? He congratulates me. Says it's time to forge my destiny. The viewing room fills with light and swallows me with it.

The memories stream past with unbelievable velocity. The euphoria I'm experiencing transforms into writhing pain as the corridor around me erupts into a blazing inferno. I can barely make out anything as I close on the end of the tunnel.

Subliminal images.

Reunion. Betrayal. Death. Resurrection.

Xia...

Confrontation. Loss. Massacre. The beast.

Lavos.

Alone. Isolation. Depression. Self-Loathing. Guilt. Nightmares. Three women. Sword.

Death. Resurrection.

All over again.

To Be Continued...

Next Chapter - "Morning Star"


	4. Morning Star

Chrono Trigger Omega  
Episode Zero Zero One  
Act One – "Morning Star"

The light of daybreak pours into the cave opening and into the weary eyes of the pair that lay inside it. The figure closest to the opening is the first to rise, discovering something dragging down her right wrist as she ascends. A golden cuff of an ornate design and a fine polish binds it, with an equally gilded chain running from it to the other person in her company.

He was an older man in his late fifties, and dressed in an onyx bodysuit from the neck down. If it weren't for the absence of a ski mask, the steel-toed black boots his feet adorned, or the brown trench coat he wore over it all, he'd look like he was ready to burgle something priceless. The leather, jet-black gloves on his hands only added to his cat-burglar style taste for apparel while his shock white mullet and mustache-less beard contrasted against all of the dark colors he donned.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, the young woman in his company was barely dressed. If his clothing style was that of a sophisticated thief, then hers was more in the vein of _Barbarella_. Over her torso, a white, tattered, and skimpy tunic draped over her chest and a simple loincloth wrapped around her slender waist. Covering her forehead, a golden plate of medieval design held up the protruding crop of her mop of scarlet and unruly hair. The gilded head-band looked like four horns pointing upward and matched the equally gold, serpentine band wrapped around her left upper arm.

"…old fool, will you get up already!" Pulling at the chain and raising his cuffed arm, the twenty-something woman looked quizzically perturbed attempting to bring him out of his post-slumber daze. Her sultry voice carried a unique, but noticeably English accent to it. Until he slowly arose, rubbing down the mane of his hair, she towered over him at 5'11". However his 6'2" muscular frame soon overshadowed her slender, yet firm and curvaceous form as she spoke again, "Where are we?" she demanded holding up her cuff and chain in front of him, "Are you behind this?"

"Lass…I don't even know who you are…" he muttered, revealing a Scottish accent and recovering from a sleep worse than hers, apparently. However, the Scotsman was slowly coming out of his grogginess. The woman was at first surprised at his remark, but then became even more annoyed with him, dragging him to the opening of the cave they had aroused inside.

The both stopped just short of the steep slope of a mountainside, facing a tremendous and lush valley below. For as far as the eye could see, there were fields of flowers – and in all colors of the spectrum. The various fields had surrounded a thick forest at the center of the valley, where the leaves of it's foliage appeared to be pitch-black from where the pair happened to be roosted – a good 1500 yards from ground level. If the alluring scenery below weren't sensory overload enough, what they spotted next would send them reeling.

Ahead of the miles-long forest and further in the distance, they both spotted a sprawling estate surrounded by a modest fence-like wall. The design of the manor was oriental influenced, leaning more to Japanese-aesthetics in architecture. In its courtyard were even more flowers, containing all the colors and varieties that could be found in the surrounding fields. Behind the manor laid a waterfall and the river that ran from it traveled through the manor, the forest, and right back to the lake that lay at the foot of the mountain the pair found themselves within. Its crystal blue, cool waters beckoned to both of their parched throats, dry from their heavy slumber.

"What is this place?" the older man questioned, more to himself than to the woman that accompanied him.

"I thought that you might know, Macbeth," the woman returned, awed by the sight of it all, "if it were only nighttime…then we wouldn't have to climb down-"

"Who are you?" Macbeth, the Scotsman, interrupted her, a far more serious and alert expression to his voice and face, "Something about you is familiar, but you can't be who I'm thinking of."

"And what if I was?" the woman's eyes narrowed and a malicious smile formed over her luscious lips as she stood upright to face him. Despite his size and gender, he could see that the woman had no fear in her eyes and a familiar sparkle that confirmed his suspicions.

"Demona…?" astonishment overwhelmed Macbeth as his eyes drink in the sight of her. His gaze faded into a glare as she stepped back to anticipate his next move, "This is too funny. The so-called extinguisher of all humans is now one herself?"

"If life has taught us anything, old man, is that it is full of irony," she remarked, not pleased about her "predicament", "now, how about we climb down from here and find out where we are."

"I've got a better idea, 'old friend'," Demona, the redhead, found herself in the vice grip embrace of the Scotsman and he wasted no time throwing the both of them to the mercilessness of gravity.

Demona found herself watching the shallow waters of the lake below speed closer into view as she and Macbeth spiraled headfirst to imminent doom. Unable to break free of Macbeth's hold, she cursed him for his suicidal tendencies as their tumultuous lives would come to a crashing end.

"You bastard!" in her grief and rage, she shouted, "I can't believe you would choose a coward's way out like this!"

"I don't owe you an honorable death, Demona," Macbeth retorted, looking like he had reached a new level of inner peace before the inevitable, "just a swift one."

"Dammit! Release me!" she desperately tried to claw him with her fingernails, but his embrace only grew tighter, "I won't die like this! I refu-" her pleas were halted as the golden ties that bonded them both began to emanate an enchanting light. Materializing around them was an orb of light with them safely at the center as the pairs' descent slowed to a gentle stop. Two feet above the surface of the lake.

"What is this sorcery?" Macbeth asked in annoyance while Demona breathed a sigh of relief. As he looked into her eyes, he could see that they were brimming with tears, but he only caught a glimpse of her fragility before something unexpected happened. The glow faded from the golden links and the orb of light popped like a bubble, suddenly returning the two a much safer drop as they spilled into the lake.

Drenched from head to toe and thrashing about in the water, Demona pounced on top of him throwing her fist across his face. Suddenly, she had also reeled as if she had been punched, sadly a victim to the "curse" that plagued them both. Dazed from her own assault, Macbeth wrapped his hands around her neck and plunged her underneath the cool waters of the once-tranquil lake. She was now gasping for air and being strangled at the same time, while the expression of Macbeth mirrored the same discomfort.

It felt like a wave of electric current washed over his body as his golden cuff alighted and ravaged him with a viscous injection of mystic energy. His death throttle of Demona's throat immediately released right before she almost lost consciousness, springing up out of the lake as Macbeth was about the fall face forward into it. Although almost dying twice in one day had shaken her to her very core, she was surprised to find that he was immobilized from the shock he received and that she had felt none of it. And they couldn't have been any closer in proximity, either. Demona had become an emotional wreck as she pushed the Scotsman off of her, leaving him to float motionless on his back as she gripped the soft floor of the lake and cried. From her recollection, it had been a long time since she resigned herself to a good bawling.

The lids of his eyes flew open as he gazed at a familiar ceiling. He instinctively slid his hand over his heart where he thought he was impaled the night before, realizing the mortal wound he incurred was no longer there. Maximillian Ramnarine slowly sat up in the bed of his room, looking around for any signs of the event that occurred last night, but even the glass doors of his balcony were closed – the place where he remembered meeting his "unexpected guests" the night prior. Wanting to believe the experience he endured in the twilight was only a dream, he knew better. His body "told" him otherwise…

His mind still rang from the pain of its regeneration, or "flashfire interlude" as Ramnarine lovingly called it. His body sluggish and heavy from the recovery it was still undergoing from the damage he received. Although he was now free from the pain he experienced earlier, he was certain of one thing.

He had died hours earlier. However, why he was alive again wasn't mystery to him.

Finding himself in just his boxers again, Max found where he laid his favorite blue t-shirt nearby and threw it on. On the front of the shirt is a futuristically styled letter "Z" colored red with a break within the center of the letter's width that was also in the shape of a "Z". Jumping into a pair of black sweatpants that was draped over the same chair as the shirt, he emerges from his bedroom, still groggy but looking for something – anything that would prove that his battle last night had happened. Shuffling to the staircase of his mansion, his plan was to go downstairs and outside to the courtyard to find signs of his battle with the tri-clops. When he spotted what lay ahead of him at the bottom of the staircase, he realized that he wouldn't have to travel as far as he first thought.

"Good morning, Maximillian," a voice he immediately recognized was the first thing that alerted him before looking down on the floor of the mansion's main entrance. His eyes caught sight of three alluring Caucasian women, all dressed elegantly and identically. Each one in the trio was indistinguishable from the next, save for their long flowing hair. The one seated on the foot of the steps adorned a jet-black mane, while a blond one stood against the end of the banister on the opposite side. At the center, standing on the floor, was the third whose hair was unnaturally white for her young age. They all resembled women in their twenty-somethings and were dressed in gowns that dated back to a previous day and age, such as medieval times.

Ramnarine was taken aback slightly by their instant appearance, before mustering up enough guile to approach them. As he descended the staircase, he worried that if he would have to resort to defending himself again, would he be up to par while still recovering from the beating he took the night prior. He resigned himself to buying time and resorting to finding out what the women wanted. At the back of his mind, he knew this reeked of something bad, and that their appearance could be linked to the very thing he had been running from – in his dream and his reality.

"Morning, ladies…" Nightrunner spoke with a bit of hesitance, "I'd welcome you but it looks like you've already made yourself at home. What can I do for you?" he'd almost said those words through clenched teeth as he was still unnerved that they had even found his home in the first place. And the fact that they had bested him hours earlier. At this point, he had eaten enough humble pie that he could have skipped breakfast.

"Thank you for your audience, Maximill-"

"Wait," he sighed, interrupting one with snow-white hair, "'Max' is just fine. Someone I once knew used to always call me 'Maximillian' and it only reminds me of her when others do it," he took the liberty to sit on the center of the last few stairs, next to the raven-haired one, "She's someone that I'd rather forget if I can help it."

"Would you prefer to be called 'Nightrunner'?" asked the raven one next to him, appearing to sound innocent, but for her to know that name sent shivers down his spine. He wanted to jump to his feet and make some distance between him and the women, but he calmed his nerves and remained seated, trying to remain cool under the growing pressure. It suddenly dawned on him that they had referred to him as "Nightrunner" when they first met, so the shock of hearing the second utterance of it wasn't as bizarre. Exactly how much did these women know about him, he wondered, afraid that he might be manipulated by them like he had been by others in the past. Another reason for his self-exile.

"I-It's astonishing that you even know about that old 'nickname'," he remarked with a fake smile, "Someone really has been talking. Mind telling me who?"

"We've always have been watching you," the blonde chimed in, "when we caught a glimpse of you during one of your exploits many years ago, we have never lost sight of you since."

"I-Is that so?...Then…who are you ladies, really?" Ramnarine was completely awestruck with their presence and their cryptic words, wanting them to get to the point already. To get to the bottom of things, however, he'd have to pace the conversation or risk the chance of finding out their true angle. After a wealth of experiences of dealing with others, Max had become incredibly observant of people as well as very untrusting of strangers. Taking others at face value was a quick way to get killed – a self-taught lesson that he was reintroduced to thanks to a Katana Sword not too long ago.

"You've heard of the island of Avalon, haven't you?" the blonde started, "We all live there and have for quite some time, "she brushed locks of her hair aside to reveal her ear – and that it was pointed like an elf's. Ramnarine's eyes widened as he experienced a brief flash of reminiscence of someone from his past. Tilting his head, he put his face in right palm and clutched the locks above his forehead for a moment. Triggered by the memory of this person, feelings of grief, heartbreak, betrayal, and hatred raced throughout him. However, they quickly subsided as he pulled himself back to the present. Once he ran his hand through his hair he raised his head to look at them again, noticing that the women were no longer hiding their enchanted heritage underneath their flowing manes, "My name is 'Selene'," the blonde continued, finally introducing herself.

"You can call me 'Phoebe'," the raven haired maven slid closer to him, beaming when she spoke and increasing the tension that was growing within him. Being in the center of a den of snakes would have felt more calming to Nightrunner than what he was enduring at that moment. He had thought to himself how stupid he was for his actions the previous morning when he "deactivated his 'security blanket'" for maintenance. It took all his concentration to hold in a nervous snicker to when he wished he could go back in time to correct that mistake. Irony, especially his own, had always been humorous to Ramnarine.

"And I am 'Luna'," the silver haired one finally chimed, "But the mythological legends of mortals have dubbed the three of us-"

"The Weird Sisters?" Max couldn't wait to say it, since he already knew when Selene mentioned Avalon, "I've met a lot of characters in my time, but I didn't think I'd run into the legendary enchantresses that Shakespeare wrote about. But I thought your names were Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos?...Respectively…"

"Just one of the many inaccuracies from the pen of William Shakespeare," Phoebe smiled, appearing to be the friendliest of the trio, "you wouldn't believe what else his 'artistic license' stretched the truth about."

"I'd bet I would," he returned her smile, albeit nervously, "If you've been watching me for as long as you say, then you know I've 'been around', right?"

"Of course," added Luna with a smirk, "matter of fact, because of 'that', you share a lot in common with the two people we wish for you to meet."

"Two…who? What are you talking about?" he couldn't help but ask.

"That's why we come all this way to see you, Max," the seemingly cold Selene answered, "We have a favor to ask of you…"

A gentle and cool breeze roused him to his senses. The onyx leaves of the tree he laid under were the first things he noticed as he laid on his back staring up at the little sunlight that could penetrate its foliage. They swayed gently in the flower-scented wind. His eyes looked straight forward while he sat up, spying the shore of lake he had fell into earlier. They were only a few meters away from it, he observed, still soaking wet from its shallow depths. Before he looked beside him to find the inevitable, she made herself known.

"I fucking despise you," were the first words out of Demona's mouth. She sat up against the trunk of the tree and couldn't wait to tell him, all the while, refusing to look at him. Her cheeks were still swollen from her sobbing minutes before, and she had only calmed down after dragging them both under the shade.

"Believe me…the animosity is more than mutual," Macbeth returned.

"If I could, I'd kill you and put you out of both our misery…but I can't, you know that," she lamented, "there's still too much I have to do."

"I would end this right now, lass, but it looks like whoever made these chains also bewitched them to prevent either of us from causing serious harm to the other," the Scotsman speculated, still tingeing from the sting of his shocking experience.

"And I'm certain it was the 'Weird Sisters'," the redhead had also been deducing the cause of their circumstances, "if it wasn't for them tying us together and dropping us in the middle of nowhere, I would have to thank them for thinking of that."

"Those wenches have manipulated the both of us for too long," Macbeth rose, forcing Demona to do so as well. They both dusted as much earth off of their lake-drenched bodies as they could as they turned to the forest a mile in the distance. A field of blue roses lay between them and the mass of trees, with a narrow path running through the bed of azure flowers, "what do you think they want from us this time?"

"Hell if I know," Demona sighed, her eyes lost in the bed of strangely colored flowers, "but I do have an idea. That estate we spotted earlier…if we go there, we might find some answers."

"I'm not sure how your twisted logic brought you to that conclusion, but it is the only sign of civilization we've found so far," he physically concurred starting off toward the path in the midst of the blue roses, "if anything, we might find food and shelter there."

"Not to mention, humans," she sneered at the thought.

"That I'm not sure about, actually," he retorted with both of them now treading on the path, the fragrance of the roses doused the air around them, "if the Sisters are involved and they have something to do with that place, Lord knows what we'll find when we arrive," he was forced to stop his stride when Demona's curiosity got the best of her.

"Your 'God' just might not know about this place…" she said, picking one of the roses and drinking in it's aroma, "after all, I'm sure he didn't make this…" she passed it to him and he immeadiately noticed what her cryptic words meant.

"No thorns…" he was amazed, "must be a special breed of rose, but scientifically altered to grow without them. And on top of that, they're growing wild like this? Are they all like that?"

"From the looks of it. I'm no expert in cultivating, but isn't that a crime against nature?" Demona rose, putting another rose in her hair while Macbeth gently placed his into an inside pocket in his trench coat.

"To rob a rose of its thorns is indeed a blasphemous act," for once in a long while Macbeth agreed with her, "do you believe the Sisters would do something so heinous?"

"As much as I hate them, I don't think so," Demona surprised him with her response as they began their journey again, "if I were to wager a guess, I'd bet what was behind this was a-"

"Human?" he guessed and Demona nodded with an all-knowing smile. He realized the surprise he felt was premature, "Same old Demona…well, almost. There's been something that's been bothering me since our reuniting. Why are you now what you hate most?" A sigh erupted from her on the advent of his inquiry; Demona knew he'd eventually ask.

"You can say that I…asked for it…" she mournfully started.

"So you're asking me for a miracle, basically?" Max commented, processing their request and echoing back at them in layman's terms, "These 'proxies' under your 'care and guidance' are now out of your control and you would like me to 'discipline' them into working together?"

"That's exactly right," Luna spoke as they all walked down a long hallway of the manor. The room at the end of the corridor was their destination, "It may seem impossible, but if there's anyone that can make it happen, it's you Max."

"Why would I want to rob two arch-nemeses of the pleasure of having it out? You ladies know my past right? If so, I'm the last person you want to be asking this. I have, er…had a nemesis, myself."

"That's why you're the perfect person for this," Phoebe hooked her arm around his, acting very familiar with him as she pulled up closer to him while walking, the other two women followed close behind, "Your own harrowing experience with your own enemy was a painful one wasn't it? Much like you, our 'proxies' used to be close friends once upon a time."

"History's greatest rivals usually start out as the best of comrades," Max remarked, almost regretfully while coming to a stop at the entrance of the doors that marked the end of the hallway. He opened the double doors in grand fashion to reveal a feast to the audiophile's eyes.

Even the Weird Sisters paused at the sight of a grandiose music room. Many instruments adorned the lower part of the wall on the far opposite side of the room, from guitars to bagpipes, drums to xylophones – practically every analog musical device you could think of. Off to the left side of the room was an extensive library of vinyl records, some dating back to when the format was established. From the look of it, one would think that Ramnarine might just have every album published in the history of music – but they would be wrong. His collection was short 12 albums, and unless he could travel back in time to get them they would elude him forever. Besides, to Nightrunner, that would be cheating…

Towards their right, lay a comfortable looking area to enjoy whatever music would fill the room. Plush sofas, beanbags, coffee tables, game boards, ottomans, a simplistic-looking record player, and other articles of recreational furniture surrounded by a ring of roses, all of different colors and varieties. Running through the center of the music room's floor was the irrigation provided for the bouquet – the river that ran from the waterfall behind the manor to the mountain that book-ended the valley the mansion was nestled in. It was underneath a transparent section of the music room's marble floor; although that would lead one to ask the question 'how could someone create see-through marble?' Another one of the many mysteries behind Ramnarine and his unique refuge.

The river was exposed from the doorway towards the center of the back wall of the room where the instruments could be found, yet you couldn't hear it rushing current unless you listened very closely. The transparent marble section was a straight line, measuring ten feet wide – save for the center of the room where one would spy a clear circle twice as wide in diameter. A grand piano, lacquered in jet-black finish rested atop it, complete with a matching stool. The group picked up the pace again with the piano as their next stop.

"Isn't that tragic, Max?" Selene, the blonde, asked him, "Do you wish for the same tragedy that happened to you on others?"

"No…but if people can't work out their own problems, then it's only inevitable that they'll destroy each other, despite my intervention," Ramnarine returned, "I'm no miracle worker or even a decent 'sensei'."

"What about 'motivation'?" Luna asked stopping him in his tracks at the piano stool. As Nightrunner turns around to face her, she continues, "If you provide a miracle for us, we will bestow one upon you as well."

"What exactly do you mean?" the accommodating disposition of Max Ramnarine quickly faded into a deathly serious expression, with his voice shifting to a deeper, intimidating tone. Phoebe could feel his body turn ice-cold and released his arm, retreating between her sisters.

"What you have lost…" Luna pointed behind and above him, "you can finally have returned, with our help."

Nightrunner eyes widened to that of dinner plates, knowing precisely to what she was referring. He didn't even have to look at what she was pointing to, already trying had not to glance at it as they entered the music room. At the top of the walls all around the room, masterfully painted portraits could be found. One appeared to be of a family of Nubian descent. There appeared to be a mother & father, surrounded by five children; four girls and one boy. To top it off, two of the youngest girls were identical twins; one smiling while the other smirked at the portrait's forefront.

However that was not what Luna had directed him to. Neither were the other portraits of various landscapes and even one of Earth itself as viewed from it orbit. Where the transparent marble walkway ran into the wall at the far end of the room, far above it at the top center rested the most awe-striking one of them all. A field of roses of all colors decorated the bottom of the depiction, caught in mid sway from a gentile breeze. At the center of the field, a lone, petite woman stood with her sky blue sundress blowing in the wind. She had an irresistible smile and a natural beauty that came along as rarely as diamonds. The warmth from her deep brown eyes were enough to make anyone pause and take notice, while richness of her cocoa-colored complexion left one to wonder if it had been painted on by God himself. Along with her dress, her long locks of midnight drifted in the wind, framing her alluring, beaming face. The stem of a red, thorn-less rose rested between her graceful fingers as she held it with both hands towards anyone fortunate to view her portrait.

Max slumped down onto the piano stool, still processing Luna's words as his heart started to race. He found the courage to gaze up at the women again as he found all three looking at the mystery girl's painting.

"The perfect woman…" Phoebe remarked, "That's what she was to you, wasn't she?"

"Maybe too perfect," Selene countered. The icy chill of her voice prompted Ramnarine to speak again.

"It's not possible…" Nightrunner's body quivered. His hands clenched at his pants and his voice strained, "I've tried everything…"

"Everything…" Luna responded with confidence, "but magic…" those words snapped up his full attention, "rest assured, we have the ability to reunite you with Xia," the mention of the girl's name shook him to his core. It took him a bit to center his emotions, appearing to be a bit wobbly as he stood again. Gone from his eyes was any of the fear and uncertainty that flooded them before, the Sisters noticed. All that remained in them was determination.

"But only if I help you first…" Ramnarine said, the tone behind his voice showed his demeanor changed to strictly business, "What else should I know about these subordinates of yours before they arrive?"

"How about that?" Macbeth laughed while Demona scowled, "Another one of Oberon's children cursed you into becoming human instead of stone during the day," he surmised as they continued their walk underneath the canopy of the dense forest. The path continued to run through it, but it looked like it hadn't been used in some time. The pair was already a mile into the forest as Demona had wrapped up her explanation, "sure sounds like something that prankster Puck would do."

"You would find my misery entertaining," returned Demona, as she was their guide on their journey. The canopy of foliage around them was so thick, the high noon sunlight barely pierced their coverage. Her eyes glowed with a demonic red aura, enabling her with the "night vision" her true form was genetically blessed with, "at least as a human, I'm not completely helpless," she said referring to her special gift of sight.

Well into the second mile, Macbeth was caught off-guard when Demona stopped suddenly. He noticed her concentrating her gaze on something in the distance, coaxing him to ask what she spotted. Remaining mum on the subject, she led him the direction of what she eagle-eyed. Within 50 yards of their goal, he finally could see it despite the dim light and even he started to pick up the pace, despite Demona's wariness of the structure.

Not too far from a clearing ahead stood a cabin amongst the trees. It was a modest home, and with no light emanating from inside, it appeared to be abandoned as well. It took everything Demona had to keep Macbeth behind some nearby trees so that they could keep what element of surprise they had left, just in case some not so friendly folks did reside inside.

"Let's forget about this place," she suggested, "it looks vacated, and I'm sure there's nothing inside that we can use."

"Not even food?" he retorted, "Don't tell me that you of all people are afraid of what we might discover inside. I thought you were made of sterner stuff, Demona."

"I just have a bad feeling…that's all," she bit back, "I didn't survive this long by ignoring my instincts. This has 'trap' written all over it."

"So does that mansion, yet you insist on going there," Macbeth stated, "enough of this, I'm knocking on the door. If no one answers then we're going in," he rose, leaving Demona to curse as she was left with little choice but to follow. Scaling up the handful of steps up onto the cabin porch, the Scotsman rapped on the front door. With no response from the first attempt, he announced himself and asked if anyone was inside. Still, no dice. Just as he began to knock again, Demona grabbed his wrist to stop him.

"Did you hear that?" she asked, putting her ear against the door. Macbeth was too busy making noise to know what she was talking about, placing his ear on the door as well and just in time to catch what she heard seconds before. The faint moan of someone – or something – in severe pain, ruptured from inside the cabin.

The four had returned to the mansion's foyer once more, where Nightrunner appeared to be mulling something over in his mind. The trio of enchantresses watched him intently, as he was about to speak after a silence that didn't seem to want to break..

"I'll give your proposal some serious thought," he simply said, "and by the time your 'warriors' get here, I'll have an answer for you."

"Fair enough, Max Ramnarine," Selene approved, "we will continue to watch you from Avalon and hope that you will find favor with our request."

"You do that…" he turned around to ascend the staircase back to the second floor, while the women also turned away to leave. Only traveling a few stairs upwards, he paused his return to his bedroom to leave the Sisters with one last remark, "I still don't trust you three, and I think getting Xia back is impossible. But…I'd make a deal with the devil if I could hold her one last time. Don't disappoint me if I come through for you."

"We promise you, Nightrunner," although he couldn't see her, he could hear the warmth behind Phoebe's voice, "you will see Xia again," the advent of those words made him turn around to look at the Sisters one last time, but by the time he swiveled his torso, with women were gone without a trace. Ramnarine smirked to himself before climbing the stairs back to his room. He had much to ponder before his guests arrived…

"Dammit!" the door budged slightly, but wouldn't release its lock as Macbeth threw his shoulder and his weight into it. Realizing quickly it wasn't enough, he turned to an aggravated Demona who seemed appalled by his actions, "Well, what are you waiting for?"

"For you to find some damn common sense!" she snapped, "We don't even know what's in there, and you want to go barging in?"

"If you were in trouble, wouldn't you'd appreciate-" Macbeth stopped in mid-sentence as suddenly realized something, "right, I forget who I'm talking to," much to her chagrin he returned to the futile ramming of the door.

"You're not going to stop, are you?" she said, rubbing her own right shoulder in pain in reaction to the damage his constant attempts were causing to his own, "Idiot…" in order to bring her own hurting to an end, she started to throw her left shoulder into the entrance as well. After three unified attempts, the sound of wood breaking behind the door accompanied their own stumble through it as it gave way.

As expected, their eyes met darkness as they entered, and with not much light coming from outside, the visual condition inside didn't change much. Macbeth could still spot the source of the moaning, however; the body of a woman, peppered in severe wounds and wearing a tattered, bloodstained, sky-blue sundress laid on a couch in the cabin's living room. As the Scotsman dared to venture closer, he could see that she was still alive, albeit barely. Her glazed-over eyes managed to look up and into his as he kneeled down next to her, to inspect her wounds.

"We heard you from outside, lass," he opened up dialogue first, mainly to spare her the pain of talking, "My name is Lennox, and this 'lovely human being' over here is Demona," he sarcastically introduced her, motioning over to the redhead with his chained hand. She remained standing, looking at the girl they found like children in a science class do during their first frog dissection, "Is there anything we can do to help?"

"For what…it's worth…thank you…" she spoke in a weary voice, her breathing heavy from the pain of her injuries. From what Macbeth observed, most of her wounds seemed to be third-degree burn marks, now caked over in blood and dead flesh. One even resembled a hand print on where her neck met her left shoulder. She was in worse shape than he first thought as both he and Demona realized that the girl didn't have too much time left in this world, "my name…is Jasmine."

"Well, Jasmine, you just rest," ever the chivalrous one, the Scotsman tried to comfort her in the best way he could, "I'll see what I can find around here to dress your wounds-"

"Please! You've got to listen!" Jasmine urgently managed to say in one breath, "I know…I don't have long to live. When you came in…I thought it was 'him'…coming to finish the job…"

"Him?" Macbeth naturally asked, "Who is this person? Did he do this to you?"

"Yes…" she said as her body racked with agony. In a show of mercy, Macbeth took her hand to give her something to squeeze and distract her from the pain, "he's a monster…there's an estate further north…I escaped from there a few days ago…that's where he lives…" Macbeth looked up at Demona with a glance that told her his hunch for breaking into the cabin was a good one, thanks to the info Jasmine had just dropped. Demona silent responded with the rolling of her eyes; she had a hard time feeling any compassion for Jasmine solely for the crime of being human. Whenever Demona came across the evils humanity brought upon each other, she couldn't help but laugh – thinking that if she didn't bring about their end, they'd eventually would. It took every ounce of her being not to snicker at the sight of Jasmine, "his name…is Nightrunner…"

"Nightrunner? That's a unique name," Macbeth remarked, "Why would he do something like this to you?"

"Because…he's obsessed…" Jasmine's voice weakened as what constitution she had left began to reveal its limit, "the woman he once loved is dead…he tried to use me as a replacement…made me his slave…the things he made me do…" her eyes began to overflow with tears as the nightmarish memories came rushing back. While Macbeth was completely engrossed about her recount, Demona was a little moved when revealed what hell she had been put through. Jasmine might nave been human, but they both were women, and that was something Demona could relate to.

"Now that I'm gone…" Jasmine continued, the gaps between breaths became longer as her grip on the Scotsman's hand, tighter, "It won't be long…before he finds another victim…who knows…how many there already have been?"

"That's enough, lass," pleaded Macbeth, seeing that she was fading fast, "you've told us plenty," he noticed that her grip become the tightest yet, as she looked intensely into his eyes. She had something important to say, and not much time for now she was running on empty.

"Lennox…grant me…one final request…" she said with anguish and anger saturating her words, "kill him…vengeance for all the…women he's done this too…save the ones who will be next..."

Her hold on his hand went limp suddenly and the light faded from her eyes. Jasmine finally let go of her pain, her sorrow, and her life. Placing her hand over her chest, the Scotsman closed her still opened eyes with the fingers that once held hers.

"Well, that's done," Demona snorted, "let's find some tools and take this contraption-"

"Demona…" Macbeth rose, still looking at Jasmine's still form, "we will bury this woman. And I will honor her final request."

"You old sap!" Demona said with disgust, "You've dragged me around enough today, thank you! On top of that you tried to kill me twice today and most importantly-" the next thing she knew, Demona found herself pinned against the wall and suspended two feet above ground by her neck. The Scotsman, in blind rage, had reached the limits of his tolerance for her, not caring if he crushed her throat or if the cuffs reacted first.

"Looks like third time's the charm," he managed to say despite the air being squeezed out of his own windpipe.

"Wait!" she screamed with what little air she had, "I'll do it!" and on those words, Macbeth released her, leaving both gasping for air yet again.

"I'll hold you to that…" the Scotsman didn't miss a beat as he was the first to recover. While he opened a tool closet nearby, Demona rubbed her throat, glaring at him with every ounce of hate she could muster. She wanted him dead, and was tempted to grab the nearest sharp object and have the satisfaction of doing so, regardless of the fact that her actions would end her own life.

The clearing outside the cabin lay behind it where the river flowed. There was a tree that stood out from the others that helped framed the clearing – a perfect grave marker for Jasmine, Macbeth decided. With shovels that he found in the closet, the pair managed to dig a hole five feet deep and in good time, taking only a little over an hour. Sadly, this wasn't the first time either had to do something like this and while digging it, the pair realized that they had done this once too many for anyone's lifetime. Even if they were immortal.

Burying another only reinforced that cruel fact.

Returning to the cabin, Macbeth wrapped Jasmine in a blanket he found in its bedroom, cradling her in his powerful arms as he took his time walking her to her final resting place. During the pallbearer's march, he couldn't help but notice how beautiful she was, imagining that in the happier moments of her life Jasmine was probably the very definition of gracefulness. He became solemn at the regretful thought of not meeting her under better circumstances.

Jumping into the plot, Macbeth laid her gently upon the earth, looking upon her face on last time before covering it over with the blanket that swaddled her. Topside, a subconscious rage started to overwhelm Demona as she reached for one of the shovels. The scarlet haired hellion had all she could take of Macbeth for one day, reaching the conclusion that if she had to go, it would be by her own terms, not his. As she began to raise it to swing it into the back of his neck, Macbeth's calm voice broke her concentration.

"Do it," his words couldn't have been more direct, yet again he didn't face her, "I deserve it and you have my blessing. I've done nothing but pursue your demise for an eternity. The least I can give for all of my failures is the honor of having you end it."

If he could see the look on her face, Macbeth would have found a deranged expression that would have unnerved even him. Still with the shovel's spade on the upswing, she bit her lower lip in anticipation as beads of sweat trickled from her forehead down her nose. Her breathing was tense and her body locked and poised for its final act. Surprise and disappointment washed over Lennox Macbeth as he heard the shovel drop to the ground above him.

"Coward…" he called her as he turned around, however he was caught off guard when he found her smiling, genuinely. She extended her hands to pull him out of the plot, and to his own amazement, he accepted.

"I never wanted something so badly in my life," she admitted after pulling him out, "but then I realized – we'd only be doing that 'Nightrunner' bastard a favor. I strike you down and all three of us fall into this hole accordingly – like dominoes. If and when he found us, he'd efficiently bury us and continue being a disgusting human, never knowing how close he was from being torn to shreds by you and me.

"I can't let that happen, Macbeth. I'll be barely doing it for her," she looked down upon Jasmine one final time, "the rest is to work out my frustrations on what I'd rather do to you, but can't. Before I snatch the life out of him, I'll claw my name into his back and savor every letter."

"Fair enough, lass," the Scotsman returned her smile, "fair enough."

Macbeth, in a final gesture of respect, took the thorn-less blue rose Demona had given him earlier and threw it upon her body before they began to return the earth they displaced. It only took half the time to fill in the grave than it did to unearth it in the first place, and to top it off, Demona removed her own rose from her wild mane of fiery red and placed it atop Jasmine's grave. After a moment of silence, the both returned to the blackness of the forest, returning to their journey with renewed vigor and - now - with a goal driving them forward.

Max Ramnarine reclined in his bed for the majority of the day. However he didn't sleep a wink, unable to do so with his mind still abuzz with the events of this morning. Fragments of their conversation still haunted him and his mind drifted back to when the Sisters were still in his company.

After asking them to reveal more about his approaching guests, the four migrated to the listening area of the music room. He seated himself on a floor pillow in front of an antique Go board, made from rich Kaya wood and sitting two feet off the floor. He didn't intend to play, but when Selene sat on the pillow across from him on the other side of the table, she grabbed one of the wooden bowls that rested atop it. The other two women sat on each side of her, magically materializing their own pillows underneath them as the blond revealed black stones inside her bowl.

"May we go first?" Selene asked, innocently enough. Max would have rather preferred to traditionally determine who went first, but he wasn't in the mood to argue. He grabbed his bowl of white stones and nodded his approval. The game started with the expected opening moves, each side placing stones in order to claim as much territory on the board as possible. It was a treat to see how the women delicately placed each stone on the field, each taking turns after the next and transporting the bowl magically into their laps on their corresponding turn.

"To start with, our 'proxies' are immortal," Luna began to explain after playing her move, "due to a spell they agreed to being subject to."

"And I guess you three were the ones that cursed them with that," Nightrunner surmised, planting a stone in his own grandiose manner, "how long have they been around?"

"Their 'bond' was forged nine-hundred and sixty-five years ago," Selene answered before playing her hand, "Demona is one-thousand forty-seven years old and Lennox Macbeth has just turned a millennium recently."

"M-Macbeth!" in shock, Ramnarine dropped the stone he had picked up with the fingers of his left hand. Conveniently, it dropped back into the bowl, "The one Shakespeare wrote about? The historical figure?"

"The very one," Phoebe patiently awaited his next move, and after he regained his composure he did so, allowing her to continue, "weren't anomalies like that your business at one time, Max?"

"Sorry…" he played again, with a sly smile, "wasn't my department. Anything else I should know?"

"Certainly," Max winced as he noticed Luna's next move was very aggressive. She made a play in a corner of the board where his stones had influence. However if she played it right, the snow-white locked maiden could drive a wedge in the middle of his area and cost him the game, "their bond also causes them to experience each others physical sensations. Pain or pleasure, each can experience what the other feels when in close range."

"Reminds me of something I saw in a cartoon once," Nightrunner remarked while playing in response to their attack. The Sisters had the initiative – or _sente_' as it was called in Go terms – and they weren't giving up the upper hand without a fight, "how far does the distance have to be for the bond not to have an effect?"

"In terms of mortal measurement, 50 feet at the least," Phoebe returned, playing a move that prevented Ramnarine from capturing all their invading black stones. Max did managed to close off their aspirations for dominating what he thought would have been his corner of the board, but he'd have to do significant damage to one of their areas if he were to have a shot at winning.

"Well, that means training them together is going to be tougher than I thought," he sighed, making a bold play on sector of the board that their influence was the weakest. Game-play accelerated as both sides played tactical assaults upon each other. Max had regained a foothold but as the entire battle of black and white stones started to wind down to the end-game (or _yose'_), he was unsure if he was ahead of the ladies in territory points.

"There is one important fact you should know about Demona & Macbeth," Selene insisted on telling him as they all started to tabulate the area won and lost on the board, "If one of them inflicts a mortal wound upon the other, their bond will be broken and they will both die. You must make sure this does not happen."

"Sure, but if anyone's dead here…it's me…" Max yielded defeat to the trio, "even with a 5-and-a-half point bonus for starting out with white, I still lose by half a point. _Kampai_, gang," he relayed with a modest smile.

As the evening approached, Ramnarine took his relentless pondering to the shower, spending longer in there than he originally planned. The sound of the rushing water lulled him into a trance of memories long past. Before he knew it, the water had turned cold from him being in there for so long, but he didn't care. Long showers were a regular occurrence to Ramnarine, and if he was contemplating something of importance he'd remain in there, lost in thought until the stream turned ice cold.

He wrapped his long and dripping locks in a soft dark blue towel and used an identical one to drape his waist while he stood at the entrance to his walk-in closet. An assortment of shirts, pants, shoes, suits, uniforms, and even strange outfits hung along both sides of the 10-meter long wardrobe corridor, but his tastes today were simple as he made his way down the aisle. Emerging from the closet with a black suit jacket, matching slacks, and contrasting white dress shirt, he traversed to a nearby dresser and threw on a black t-shirt and boxers from its contents. The black t-shirt sported a gold emblem above the right breast in the angular shape of a hawk's head while running across it in red letters was the word "Titans". Something about the logo was menacing in a way, despite its stylish design. Max sighed a little when seeing the symbol before putting it on, then covering it up completely with his white dress shirt. Leaving the top buttons of the dress shirt undone, the rest of his outfit was on before he knew it, and after slipping into a pair of well polished dress shoes, he exited his room to descend the staircase again.

Their shadows trailed behind them as they stood directly in front of the open gate of the mansions fence. The sun was in a position to set soon and the thought of that eventuality brought a smile to Demona's lips as she was ready to step through the gate's threshold. The only thing keeping her back was Macbeth, who had paused for some reason.

"Are we going to do this not?" she asked, slightly annoyed at his hesitance, "Don't tell me that you're getting cold feet?"

"I can't help but feel we're stepping into a situation where we'll be at a distinct disadvantage, lass. If 'Nightrunner' is here, not only will be fighting him in his domain, but still chained together as well," the Scotsman observed, "none of the tools in the cabin could put a dent in these things. From the looks of it, they're not only enchanted to prevent us from destroying each other, but to take a beating also."

"Not to worry, old man," the redhead smirked, "not to far from now, the ties that bind us will no longer be a problem. I'll see to it myself," she said enigmatically while taking the first step, "now, let's move." Macbeth followed after her with wary eyes observing his surroundings.

The pair entered the flower-filled courtyard of Ramnarine Manor, making their way to ornate fountain that rested at the eye of the cobblestone circle at the garden center. Macbeth couldn't help but admire the surroundings while Demona's eyes were focused on the front doors of the manor – one of which was slightly opened.

"This is looking more and more like a setup by the second," Demona couldn't help announcing, "it's a big house, however. Where do you think we'll find him inside?"

"It's anyone's guess. Seems a shame that we can't split up to cover-" Macbeth paused in mid-sentence as something caught his ears, "Music? Either someone is playing a record-"

"No…it's a piano," her hearing happened to be sharper than the average human's, "and it's being played by someone - not a playback at all," she coaxed him to run up to the front door with her, where they waited a second before pushing open the entrance all of the way to reveal what awaited them inside.

Making their way into a well-lit interior, Macbeth and Demona carefully stepped into the grand foyer where Ramnarine and the Weird Sisters had stood hours earlier; discussing the fates of the very two people that had finally arrived. Right before them sat the long staircase that led to the second floor and the bedrooms that filled it. However, Demona's attention was directed to a hallway around and behind the staircase, leading Macbeth into the unknown. The only thing they knew was that the source of music emanated from whatever was at hall's end, a mystery neither could wait to solve as they strode to the open doorway…

His fingers played over the 88 keys as if they had a mind of their own. It didn't require much thought for Nightrunner to play the piano as well as he did, after all, he had been a veteran of the instrument for a long time. Longer than he wished he could remember. Despite having his back to them, he could sense that his company had arrived, but continued to play until he finished the bittersweet tune his heart belted out. He quickly realized that his guests had enough manners to permit him to do so and deep down he was grateful. Ramnarine fought hard to resist, but his eyes finally surrendered, drifting upwards to the portrait of Xia, triggering his mind to be lost in a whirlpool of memories. He hated himself for being such a prisoner of his tragic past, but he surrendered himself to that pathetic state long before Demona, Macbeth, or even the Weird Sisters arrived.

"That girl…" Macbeth found himself lost in Xia's portrait as he and Demona stood in the music room doorway, "she's wearing the same dress."

"What?" Demona asked, giving the picture a glance, then revealing a perturbed expression on her face as her impatience snowballed, "What does that have to do anything? Let's find out if that human is Nightrunner and get this thing started."

"It has to do with Jasmine," Macbeth retorted, "she said that Nightrunner was trying to compensate for the loss of his beloved with her and other women. The woman in that painting might be the original article."

"It's nice that you're so sentimental," she rolled her eyes, an act that came to her like second-nature, "but it's time to put on your game-face. To start losing your nerve right before show time-"

"You're wrong," he countered, "if that person ahead of us is Nightrunner, I'd like to grant him last act of finishing his song, that's all. Besides…I haven't heard 'Good Morning Heartache' in ages, and not nearly as well as he's playing it."

"Right…" Demona grumbled, "Fair enough… but he's got five minutes."

"It won't be nearly that long," the Scotsman smiled, "he's almost done."

Exactly 44 seconds later, Ramnarine's fingers played the finale of "Good Morning Heartache", a soulful, yet bluesy melody that captured the state his heart had been in for what felt like forever. However, he forced his melancholy feelings aside as he rose from the bench and turned to face his guests with a half-hearted smile. He found them already walking up to both him and the piano and took a second to look them over as he advanced them as cautiously as they did. Macbeth appeared as dignified as he expected the former King of Scotland to look, despite being dirty from his quest to Ramnarine's home. There was a roguish charm to his eyes that Max could see as well; the spark of confidence that one would find in the leader of a nation.

What Ramnarine didn't expect was to find such a beautiful and dangerous-looking woman in his company. He fought hard to remember her name from his conversation with the Sisters, taken aback by how little she wore, her wild mop of scarlet, and the attitude her poise exuded. He knew she was a firebrand the second he laid eyes on her, and probably the cause of a lot of the problems between the two. If there was anyone that would be hard to tame, it would be her.

"Good evening and welcome to my home," he broke the silence once he was in reach of a handshake, "my name is Richter Ramnarine. But please, call me 'Max'."

"Pleased to meet you, sir" Macbeth was quite relieved that the pleasant youth wasn't 'Nightrunner', or at least he didn't call himself that, "I'm-"

"I don't get it," Demona interrupted, "Why call you 'Max', when your name is-"

"'Richter'?" Ramnarine's nervous smile relaxed a bit as he became more comfortable with the pair, "Because my middle name is 'Maximillian'. I'm not really too fond of my name so I'm just happy there's a part of it I feel fine using," he joked but neither laughed. He knew it would be a tough crowd from the start, however, and cleared his throat, carrying on, "I guess its no surprise, but I've been expecting you."

"Really," Macbeth's intuition told him to be on guard, and his mental defenses triggered into action. Demona's had been in play from the minute they entered the courtyard, "and who would have informed you that we were coming."

"Come on now, I thought you two would have- oh…" Max suddenly noticed something. The golden chain and cuffs bonding them together caught his eye and then something the Sisters had told him came back to his memory, "that's right! They did mention that thing…"

"You mean this?" Demona caught part of the long chain in her hand, "Who mentioned it?"

"The Weird Sisters, of course," Ramnarine stated, "they did tell you about me and to come here right?"

"Not at all, lad," countered Macbeth, "we awoke at the mountain on the other side of the valley this morning, having no idea where we were or why we were here. I believe you have the answers we've been seeking, however."

"Are you in league with those witches?" Demona accused him, angrily grabbing the lapel of his jacked with her free hand, "Where are they?"

"Just slow down a second, lady," Max gently grabbed her wrist, pressing a point on it that caused her to immediately release her grip. It didn't even hurt her, she noticed, but the cavalier way he coerced her hand amazed and shocked her at the same time leaving her speechless, "'Demona', isn't it?" he remembered her name at last, much to her continuing surprise, "I haven't played into their manifesto yet, but I am considering an offer that they presented me this morning."

"And what would that be?" Macbeth asked, all too intrigued despite the change in his demeanor from hospitable to suspicious. Max recognized that the mere mention of the Sisters had upset them a great deal, and he immeadiately regretted speaking their name. However, what was done was done and he ventured on, this time much more meticulous with the words he chose.

"Well, 'your highness'," Max was sincere when he referred to Macbeth as that, but he didn't receive the honorable title as well as Ramnarine hoped, "they requested that I train you to not only become better warriors but to also put aside whatever animosity you tow have for each other so you can work together. I'm not sure what the beef is between you to is, but I told them what their hoping for is easier said than done."

"You don't know the half, boy," Demona smirked, "our history goes back farther than you'd believe – or did they tell you that too."

"Just a little, but watch who you're calling 'boy'," Max returned, his demeanor changing to a much less accommodating one, "a brother might take that the wrong way," he lightened up a bit, however when his focus returned to the chain between them, "now, I was told that I had the ability to break that thing. That is…if you let me," Ramnarine smiled faintly.

"You'd only hurt yourself, lad," Macbeth advised, "whatever witchcraft curses these bonds makes them indestructible."

"Then my attempt will at least be entertaining," Ramnarine remarked taking the chain in his right hand, "would you two stretch pull this as hard as you can on both your ends? I'm going to try and break it," he raised left hand and positioned himself to chop the chain once they had it up.

"Here?" Macbeth said with a confused look, "You'll need more than just your hand to do any damage to this."

"No, let him," Demona said with a malicious grin while pulling on her side. Macbeth did likewise tightening the chain as Ramnarine asked, "if this fool can't listen to reason, this will be entertaining just like he said. When he hurts himself, that is."

"Ye o' little faith, 'Scarlet'," Max gave her a nickname that she didn't particularly care for. Her disdain made his smile broaden as he raised his hand further upwards and back, "now brace yourselves. Don't want to see…" around his hand exploded a neon blue flame that engulfed it, "…you…" Demona and Macbeth were stunned to witness the phenomenon, but before they could make a move in reaction, "…FALL!" Ramnarine threw his hand into the chain, shattering it. Macbeth held his ground, but Demona still amazed by what just happened stumbled backwards, her next destination being the marble floor below her tripping feet.

"See…told you 'Scarlet'," she was dumbfounded to find herself caught by someone behind her. Demona was even more shocked to find that it was Ramnarine. As she regained her balance and threw herself back to Macbeth's side, the pair both stood in awe of the feats he had pulled in less than a second. It was enough to destroy the chain, but to transport himself behind Demona was a whole new mystery for them to wrap their already mystified minds around.

"What…are…you?" she asked as she slowly regained her composure, finding the courage to step forward placing her between Max and Macbeth.

"That's…a long story…" Max said, with a heavy heart. He knew he had shown them too much too fast and hoped that after startling them, his actions wouldn't scare them away, "look, why don't we go over there-" he motioned over to the rose-bordered rest area a few steps away where he played Go with the Sisters earlier, "-have a seat, and we can start this all over. From the top, if that's what you guys want."

"First, one thing," Macbeth interjected, "we came here looking for someone. Maybe you know him."

"Ooookay," Max was taken aback by the question, being the only man to reside there. Regardless, his curiousity encouraged him to play along with the Scotsman's line of questioning, along with the fact that he wanted to ease tensions by being as helpful as he could, "who can I help you find?"

"Were looking for a man named 'Nightrunner'," Macbeth continued and the mention of his nickname again caused a shrill wind to run up Ramnarine's spine, "we have a grievance we would like to 'discuss' with him. Do you know where we can find-"

"How…how in the hell do you know that name?" what was left of Max's diplomatic attitude disintergrated into severe annoyance as Macbeth observed his change in demeanor. They all could tell that the pleasantries had ended and what was to come next would be all but civil.

"We ran into a victim of his along the way," Demona could see the sun setting from a window behind Ramnarine along the back wall of the music room where his assortment of instruments was displayed. The excitement from the sight was hard for her to contain, "she told us about the inhuman things that this 'Nightrunner' did to her before she died-"

"Died?" Ramnarine asked in a mixture of horror and subdued fury.

"It's apparent that you know him, Mr. Ramnarine," Macbeth stepped to Demona's side, "is it safe to assume that you know where he is also?"

"Yeah…I do…" Max laughed at the awkwardness of his current situation, feeling like all three were the subject of someone's manipulation. With reckless abandon and reaching defeat in trying to salvage the situation, he revealed the truth to them, "you won't have to go far to find him, either. I am 'Nightrunner'."

"I knew it…" Demona began to laugh as Macbeth fumed. The sun was almost out of sight.

"We've come to claim revenge for the atrocities you committed," Macbeth revealed, "for Jasmine and all the other women you've killed," he pointed to Xia's picture above and behind Ramnarine, which threw him back into a world of despair instantly. Macbeth, ever the detective, surmised that the woman in the portrait held a special significance to Nightrunner. But he could never imagine how much.

"I have no idea who 'Jasmine' is, but in Xia's case…you're right," Max admitted in emotionless monotone, his entire being drained from the conversation, "it is my fault that she's dead."

"Well then…" Macbeth was about to conclude, "you will be joining her soo-" suddenly, the Scotsman felt a sensation that rocked his entire frame. An immense pain that felt like his body was on fire from within as he fell to the floor uncontrollably. He could see that Demona was suffering from it too, but then soon realized that it was because of her that he was suffering also. She remained standing despite the throws of agony as Macbeth fought to keep his eyes open to witness what he realized was happening. Max Ramnarine, on the other hand, had no idea what to make of what was going on.

"…the hell?" Nightrunner managed to say as he watched the redhead's skin tone change from Caucasian to the alien color of aquamarine. In a reaction of horror, he backed into the keys of the piano as she hunched over to crouch and two growths rose from the shoulder blades from her back. Ramnarine didn't take long to decipher that they were wings, and from the claws that her hands and feet where transforming into, her further deduced that she was changing into- "A gargoyle?"

As abruptly as the torture had started, it had just as quickly released Macbeth's body from its punishment as Demona rose to her feet, staring down an astonished Ramnarine. The Scotsman stood up shortly afterwards, still a little groggy about what he had just been put through and at the same time, he finally understood why when he woke up that morning why he felt as out of sorts as he did. There was something about seeing Demona's true form that shook Ramnarine to his core. Déjà vu swept him into a memory long forgotten, and it was suddenly clear why her standing before him was so familiar.

"I just want to tell you that I'm not doing this for the sake of a human's vengeance," Demona started, intimidating Ramnarine a little, "I'm going to render you lifeless for my satisfaction alone," she said exposing the claws of her hands towards Ramnarine, "Nightrunner…" the scarlet haired gargoyle reared back, ready to pounce, "your time ends now!" Macbeth watched in horror as Demona became a blur, launching to shred the young man they had come to execute.

Next Chapter - "The Shadow and the Nightmare"


	5. The Shadow & The Darkness

Chrono Trigger Omega  
Episode Zero Zero One  
Character Interlude Three – "The Shadow & The Darkness"

Despite how I feel about this, I cannot fall victim to my person feelings. The mission comes first.

However, as I witnessed history in the making, it's hard to fight the urge to not make myself a part of these exciting times. Even more difficult is watching a treasured friend begin a journey towards a nightmarish fate, only to not be able to save him from it.

After being told so much about this world, I almost didn't believe such a strange place existed. For starters, there are those strange thorn-less roses that populate this entire valley, while floating above me, are three moons casting their light upon the spectacle I'm currently consumed with. And then there's a matter of the trees…

The forest I've hidden myself within is perfect camouflage during the day, as it is comprised of trees with pitch black leaves. As I've recently discovered though, as soon as night begins to fall, the sunlight the trees absorb is released and each leaf glows, very much like a burning candle. It's truly a remarkable sight, but not very convenient for someone trying to stay concealed from wandering eyes.

Lucky enough to find a spot in a towering tree near the forest's edge, I perched myself on a thick branch, yet close to the trunk of the tree itself and remaining still while attempting to blend in with it. If I was close to the nearby courtyard, there is a good chance I could be spotted, but with my position standing over a football field's length from the fight in progress, the odds of remaining undiscovered play very much in my favor.

"Hiding, are we?" an all-too familiar voice asked from my right. Immediately, I reach for the sword strapped to my back as I turn to face the speaker as she stands weightlessly on the end of the branch I was crouching on, "I only came to watch, Katana…if you remember, if we fight one another, our time here is over," her appearance completely distracted me from the flashes of light emanating from the conflict in the courtyard.

Just being in this woman's company made me want to wretch. My employer refuses me to kill this nuisance – Isis – although there is nothing more I'd rather do right now. I can't blame the Mistress on her reasons for wanting to spare Isis from the justice of my blade, but I wait for the day when the last of those sentimental ties finally break.

On agreement for traveling back to this point in time, we were warned that if we engaged in battle with one another, we would be instantly transported back to the present. If I'm to finish my assignment, dispatching this meddling sorceress will have to wait.

"What do you want?" I ask, regrettably returning sword to sheath. She however floats to a spot on the branch near me, as if to coax my intolerance towards her as her face clearly showed annoyance towards my harsh words.

"I've already told you. Apparently that mask you wear makes you hard of hearing," Isis remarked, "and why do you have to imitate my voice every time we converse. Can't you speak for yourself?"

Ever since our first encounter, this dark sorceress has been hell-bent about discovering my true identity. Another reason why the bitch much go. It did bring me pleasure however that she misinterpreted the device that disguises my voice as an act of mockery – when in truth, it only reflects the duplicated sound of the listener's voice with my words. She doesn't know that though…

"Of all the trees to watch from, you went and picked mine," I pointed out, displeased with her close proximity.

"But this one had the best view," her smirk was enough to entice anyone to slug her, "if there is anything I have to commend you on is how well you eavesdrop, Katana."

"That's a shame," I continued to be ruthless, "there's nothing about you I find admirab-"

Thanks to this annoyance, I had almost missed it. The fountain at the center of the courtyard exploded into flames of white, raining water as well as concrete bits all over the cobblestone. At the center of the explosion, I spotted a figure that was unfortunately caught by the oncoming blast, falling into the pool below as the flames quickly died.

"That fool got exactly what he deserved," Isis smirked in that cold manner that I oh-so-despise, referring to the recipient of assault. I didn't appreciate the remark, but I was too concerned with what was going on to respond.

Another figure walked up to the remains of the fountain to inspect the body. What catches my eyes however is his sword, radiating in the darkness with mystical energy as he positions it downward. It's clear that he has it in mind to finish off his opponent, sprawled on the ground, with a thrust to the heart, an act I never thought I'd witness between these two.

I couldn't bear to stand back and watch any longer, but to interfere would mean losing to this witch and failing my mission. As Isis cheers the swordsman on, the urge to impale her with my own weapon becomes equally tempting.

Much to my surprise and her disdain, the light from the sword flashed vibrantly and blinded us both momentarily. Our eyesight returned seconds later, only to find that the swordsman was being swept up into a column of light that manifested from where he stood and stretched skyward. We watch him quickly ascend into the stratosphere as the column disappears, hearing him scream in terror as he is transported.

As my nemesis is more attuned to witchcraft than I, she is the first to sense a powerful force behind us before it materializes. I turn around just as there is another flash of bright light, this time farther away than the previous and not nearly as blinding. In it's wake, another column magically appeared and within it, the silhouette of a figure descending into the center of the forest.

"Well, I have to run, my dear Katana," Isis rose to her feet, standing on the branch, "some of us have to work," and with her tease as her queue, the sorceress instantly vanished. Good riddance.

She wasn't the only one that had obligations, and quickly I exit the tree to tend to them. Despite the long distance, I dash across the plain and into the courtyard in under ten seconds. I break from my sprint of cyber-enhanced speed near the cracked pool where the fountain had once stood. The exposed pluming continues to spout water into the air and upon the person that laid unconsciously near the piping.

'_How did this happen?'_ I thought, absolutely disappointed in his loss_, 'How could you lose?...'_

A few yards away, a peculiar sight caught my attention. Red arcs of electricity sparked erratically from a hidden source concealed by scarlet roses, as if an exposed power line laid somewhere in that particular patch of flowers. I cautiously approached when the strange spiritual energy faded into the darkness, already knowing what the source of it was.

A sport coat lay across the chest of another unconscious person, covering her exposed chest from any peeping eyes. From what I vividly recall, her tunic was viciously shredded in the assault that defeated her. I pulled the collar down slightly, exposing her neck and removing an item from a small packet strapped to my leg. In hopes to avoid the next involuntary emission of electric "rei-ki", I quickly placed the item around her neck and concealed it again with the jacket.

"Complete the circle, Demona…" I said, mainly to myself while replicating the voice the woman I bestowed the gift to, "We're all depending on you."

With the gust of the next strong wind, I disappear into the fallen darkness. At long last, the game begins…

To Be Continued...

Next Chapter - "Night Wind"


	6. Night Wind

Chrono Trigger Omega

Episode Zero Zero One

Act Two – "Night Wind"

Within the blink of an eye, the fierce yet, Amazonian gargoyle pounced at Max Ramnarine with blinding vigor. Her outstretched, finger-like talons promising to shred him to ribbons on contact. Her lunging and lean, muscular form ready to crush him mercilessly with superhuman strength. Her radiant, yet fiercely glowing red eyes giving the young man the intimidating impression that he was face-to-face with a live demon, straight out of Hell.

However, from the perspective of "Nightrunner", Demona's rushing advance might as well have been in slow motion. The phenomenon occurred around Ramnarine as if it was second nature to him; standing calmly before her while time itself appeared to slow to a crawl. Her menacing dive was no more a threat to him than if a snail charged at him, smirking at the fascinating color her blurring trail in time was leaving behind her. It was a mix of the aquamarine pigment of her skin, the soft white of her primitive tunic, the earth tone of her loincloth, and the vibrant red of her wild mane. The artist inside of him took the time to savor it up until the point her closest, outstretched finger became a fraction of an inch away from his nose. To his chagrin, his brief reprieve had ended.

Demona swiped her claws violently, and her fingers found a cacophony of discord as they slammed into piano keys. It took less than a second for her to register that he was no longer anywhere within sight, rising off of the grand instrument. However, her gargoyle-enhanced sense of scent still told her that he was still in the room – this time, to her far rear, inspiring her to spin around post-haste.

Before either she or Macbeth could ask each other what was happening, Ramnarine stepped from behind the Scotsman with phantom-esque flair, addressing him as he walked to Macbeth's side.

"You'll find an armory in the south wing of this place – on the second floor," Max sighed, sounding disappointed at the outcome, "if we can't talk this out like rational adults, then we'll play it your way. The 'girls' informed me about you being a swordsman, by the way," Macbeth was taken aback by the cavalier way Ramnarine referred to the "Weird Sisters" as he continued, "which means you're in luck. There's more melee weaponry up there than in Camelot…" he started to walk away, putting his hands in his pockets and making his way out of the room.

"Where are you going?!" an enraged Demona demanded to know, walking cautiously after him while he was still in the music room.

"After I finish 'dancing' with the 'missus' outside, they'll be plenty of time for a proper duel, highness," Ramnarine spoke as if Demona wasn't even in the room, only incensing her further as the pace of her steps picked up, "Oh…and don't worry about bringing a weapon for me. I've got that taken-" Ramnarine was cut off as Demona darted at him, swiping at his back. Much like before, he vanished again in true ethereal fashion.

"Shit!" Demona cursed, punching the door frame of the room entrance. The polished wood cracked severely sending shattered pieces spilling to the transparent marble floor. Sensing a faint trail of his scent, she spied him many yards ahead of her walking calmly to the main entrance of him home and exiting to the courtyard.

"Can I convince you not to take him on without me?" Macbeth asked in futility, knowing that her rage was already getting the best of her.

"Find the armory, old man," she sneered, "If he isn't dead by the time you find us, feel free to step in!" and with that she sprinted on all fours after Ramnarine with murder on her agenda. Macbeth only shook his head as he ran out of the room after her, making a detour for the grand staircase.

Bursting through the double door entrance of Nightrunner's mansion, Demona arrived to the courtyard in grand fashion, almost tearing the doors off the hinges as she plowed them open. Locating Ramnarine was easy, finding him directly ahead of her and seated on the edge of the fountain pool. The water springing from it was illuminated from soft blue lights within the artistic, concrete structure as he stood. As the sky grew darker, the shine of the trio of moons behind him combined with the luminescence of the fountain, left him completely covered in shadow, leaving the usually fearless Demona feeling a slight chill down her spine. She started to wonder if she was getting in over her head as the ominous feeling radiating from Ramnarine started to shake her confidence.

"Neither your speed or brute strength are going to help you win this," the Nubian stated clearly, "I hope you have more in your arsenal than what I've seen so far."

"Then stop running!" with an inspired boost in speed, she cleared the distance between them in record time, attempting to put a crushing vice grip on him by embracing Ramnarine. At the absolute last second before she made contact, Demona found her wrists in the grip of Ramnarine's hands. Not only did he manage to brace himself from the weight of her tackle, her frustration mounted when he successfully fought back against her inhuman strength. She seethed as he smiled profoundly, beginning to push her back despite her attempt to lock her position with the claws of her feet.

"This is a joke, right?" he snickered while Demona struggled, "You come from a proud warrior race, and you're telling me that this is all there is to your fighting ability?"

His questions come as a devastating blow to her ego, raising her anger to new heights. In her fury, she tried to throw her weight into him with her feet, but Ramnarine used her momentum against her, pushing himself away from the gargoyle as she flipped onto her feet. As she stands again, Demona was bewildered by his strange evasion, realizing that Nightrunner was left completely unharmed by her powerhouse kick.

Ramnarine returned to a relaxed state, putting his left hand back in his pocket as he slowly approached her. Although he considered her level of fighting technique to be mediocre, the sight of her with her wings spread standing before him was a magnificent image to drink in. She stood at 6'1" in her gargoyle form, her wingspan reached about the same and the long tail that swept the ground behind her happened to be two feet short of her height. Dodging her limbs wouldn't be a problem, but how she used her tail would certainly be an nth factor for him, not finding many opponents in past battles that wielded a extra limb. Max's ideas of gargoyles were far more monstrous than her voluptuous form demonstrated, actually finding the otherworldly woman as sexually appealing as she was in human form. Not to mention, familiar…

"No more tricks from here on out," he spoke again, walking into a range close enough for her to punch him, "I promise. If you want a straight-up fight, you've got -"

The fiery redhead had a penchant of cutting Max off in mid-speech, delivering a shattering right hook to his left cheekbone. It was far from the first time she slugged someone, but it was the first time she had put so much focus into a killing blow. As his body spiraled off and towards her left, spinning from the impact, it was then that her hand realized something terrifying. The reverb from her punch barely registered.

Stockpiling more onto her state of shock, Nightrunner gracefully pirouetted to his feet, with his back facing her and his hand on the cheek she struck.

"Remarkable…" he faced her with a genuine smile that truly spooked her, "You're unbelievably strong. To be honest, I had a hard time holding you back when I grabbed your wrists earlier," blood trickled from the corner of his smile as her eyes widened in surprise, "if I hadn't rolled with it in time, that punch could have finished me, baby." Removing his left hand from his pocket, he gestures with a beckoning finger, "now only if you had focus like that all the time…"

The glow of her eyes exploded to inferno intensity as Demona wasted no time in running him down.

The sound of the door creaking slowly cuts loudly through quiet mansion, echoing down the hallway Lennox Macbeth journeyed to. After trying other rooms in the South Wing of Ramnarine's compound, the Scotsman finally found pay dirt, arriving at the Armory.

Despite his dislike and distrust of Nightrunner, it was clear that he wasn't lying about his collection of weapons – ranging from an assortment of melee weapons to vehicles of warfare. Some of the pieces on display in the room seemed to be composed of advanced technology he never knew existed. One such item was a futuristic looking aircraft, detailed mostly in blue, with highlights of white, black and cherry red & seated on a massive pedestal rising three feet off of the floor. The sign on the platform, displayed the name of the aircraft as he started to read it aloud –

"MSZ-006, Zeta Gun-," the sight of something glowing distracted Macbeth of his observation, turning his attention to his right where he found something remarkable. The aesthetic of the radiating find made him smirk slightly as it reminded him of something of Arthurian legend.

Advancing the spectacle ever so cautiously, the Scotsman hesitated for a moment before finding the guile to reach out for the ornate handle of an expertly crafted broadsword, deeply lodged into a much smaller pedestal.

"This can't be Excalibur…" he stated, feeling the warmth of a strange power pulsating within the sword. Suddenly, believing that his mind might be playing tricks on him, he could hear the voices of children calling his name momentarily. That is, until he immediately released his grip on the blade, '_What is this sorcery?_' he thought, warily taking a few steps back from the "sword in the stone", '_It has to be a trap Nightrunner must have intended-'_

" Lennox…" the breathless whisper derailed his thoughts as a voice he hadn't heard in ages uttered his name. The sound of her call made his hair stand on end as the aura of the sword grew even brighter.

"Gruoch?" stunned, all Macbeth could do was recognize the owner of the disembodied voice before the entire room exploded with the sword's enchanting light.

From a distance, one might mistake them as dance partners. After all, Nightrunner was no more then a foot away from Demona and her violent maneuvering. With grace and split second timing, Ramnarine was indeed dancing…all around her attempts to render him harm.

"Fight me, you jack-ass!!!" again she seethed, attempting to grab him but coming up empty as he spun out of the way. His delighted smile continued to taunt her as took a moment to rest and contemplate her next plan of action.

"Well, you definitely have some 'rhythm'," Max observed, constantly moving yet standing before her. The fighting style he used was unmistakably Jeet Kune Do, but he had yet to inflict any damage on her person, strangely hesitant despite the danger a lucky strike from her could do to him. In a circle around her, he started to sidle her form, making Demona paranoid about his next move, "but you really have to work on your pace."

"This isn't some soirée'!" she countered, throwing her wings around her like a living robe. The sight of that amused Ramnarine even more, speeding up his sideways-jog around her and turning up the tension, "The only dancing I'll do is on your corpse!"

"Talk about ambition!" he snickered, continuing his round-about, "Wish I still had that…" suddenly a memory popped into his mind, prompting a question, "by the way, aren't you more accustomed to fighting with a weapon?"

"I don't need one to take care of you," Demona remarked, doing her best to keep her eyes on him, "is that more insight about me from those 'witches'?"

"Not at all, 'my fair redhead'," Max teased, continuing to interrogate, "you've got a penchant for firearms, correct? Laser rifles, especially-"

"Enough games!!! What are you getting at?!" to her amazement, her question brought his prancing to a sudden stop. His disposition migrated from playful to something far more serious.

"Simple, Demona," the serious look in his eyes actually shook her confidence a bit as his next statement blew her mind, "this isn't the first time we've met."

They were as green as he remembered. There he stood, standing again on the plains of his home country, Scotland, as a warm breeze blew locks of his auburn hair into his face. In absolute disbelief at the sight of his hair's rejuvenation to its youthful color, he suddenly realized that he was holding the enchanted sword in hand. The sight of his reflection in it's sharp, double-edged blade left him awestruck as the old man known as Lennox Macbeth had now magically reverted in age to a thirty-something.

"I'm glad you came, Lennox," warmly spoke the voice from before, now very close and emanating from behind. Spinning around with viscosity, he discovered a vision of beauty and a sight for his sore eyes.

"Gruoch…it is you," he gasped, drinking in the sight of her. There she stood, no more than 3 feet away, adorning a mauve dress that exposed her shoulders and clung to her like a second skin in some areas while flowing freely in others. It was of a regal design and resembled something a woman of high stature would wear in medieval days. Her long, orange-reddish locks played in the breeze, framing her beautiful face and welcoming smile. He wasn't sure if it was the shock to his system that left his perception of time waylaid, but before he knew it, the woman was embracing him, "how…how is this possible?" the Scotsman asked, as he recovered from his awe and lovingly squeezed his long, lost wife.

"I wish I could explain, but I don't have much time," Gruoch began as he held her, noticing a structure behind her in the not-too-far distance. In the backdrop he spied a castle on the landscape and not just any castle. It happened to be same one that he had once ruled from almost a millennium ago, standing as majestic as it did in his heyday.

"I don't understand, m' lady," Macbeth insisted, "what makes this reunion-"

"You HAVE to help defeat 'it'," desperately interrupting him, her sudden request jarred his attention, "when the time comes, promise me that you'll help destroy the 'Beast'."

"The Beast?" he loosened his embrace enough to see the fear in her normally soft eyes, troubling him as well, "What is it?" he asked as the serene sky above swiftly grew darker.

"A powerful force that threatens us all," she continued, her words more urgent than before, "this sword will guide you to those with the same dest-"

Macbeth pulled her close in reaction to the abrupt and violent trembling of the earth beneath their feet. Dropping the mysterious sword, it took every ounce of his willpower to remain standing, bracing the both of them and witnessing something unholy unfolding behind Gruoch. The structural integrity of Castle Macbeth began to unravel, crumbling as if it was made of sand. All the while, the skies above were at their angriest, thick as pea soup with clouds the rays of the sun had no hope of penetrating. However, rays appeared from elsewhere, as pillars of light that exploded from the site of the sinking castle.

In the stead of the disappearing castle, a shadowy mass arose from the depths of the terra-firma. It appeared to be massive, rivaling the size of the estate that was once before him and its shape resembling that of a turtle shell adorning hedgehog quills.

"You have the means to defeat it," Gruoch managed to say while Macbeth held her head to his chest, however her voice sounded absolutely different as if another young woman was speaking, "the Masamune will help you," she said before lifting her head to look him in the eyes again.

Macbeth almost lost his footing as the face of the woman he embraced did not belong to the person he treasured dearly. It was if Gruoch had switch bodies with another alluring female within a split second and without him noticing. Her short brown hair was long enough to frame her divine face, and her teal eyes had completely bewitched him for a moment.

"The future lies with you…" the mysterious woman he held uttered amidst all of the chaos around them. A horrible, monstrous cry shattered the air, erupting from the monster before him. It's wretched howl shook him to his core of his soul, never hearing something so demonic and overwhelming in all of his years. "see you soon-" without warning, the woman throws her arms around Macbeth's neck and kisses him passionately.

A second later, Macbeth opens his eyes to find himself on his hands and knees, on the armory floor before the sword's pedestal. It takes a few more for him to realize his surroundings and that the handle of the weapon in question was in his right hand, pinning the sword to the floor. Recovering from what he deducted was an intense vision brought on by the mystic power of the enigmatic weapon; Macbeth slowly rose to his feet still shaken. He couldn't help but notice that his reflection again in the sword's blade, finding that he still retained his youthful physique from the dream – much to his amazement. Materializing out of thin air and around his waist, a belt and sheath fit for a king appeared, and a moment later, the sword transported from his hand into its snug hip-case.

Macbeth had encountered many strange things in his life, but his experience in the armory was almost too much for him, tacking on the journey he just had making his way to Ramnarine's mansion. He soon realized that there was no time to dwell on his encounter when Demona probably had her hands full fending off Nightrunner. Equipped with an enigma, Macbeth pulled himself together and made his way out of the armory, hoping to reach Ramnarine before serious harm could come to her…and himself.

"You sure?" he took one step towards her, pointing at his own face, "I know I look a little different, but if you try hard enough, I'm sure it'll come to you."

"No, I don't," Demona admitted, highly annoyed by the enigmatic line of questioning, "nor, do I care."

"Heh…well, it'll probably surface in time," Max smiled, slightly, "besides, I'd hate to ruin the surprise," with hands in pockets he turns his back on her, walking away to one of the many groupings of roses in the courtyard.

"Where are you going?" the buxom gargoyle snapped, observing his cavalier behavior as he crouched down to observe the flowers and apparently forgetting about their fight.

"Fight's over," he decided, much to her contest, "there's loads of potential in you, but your fighting sense is a mess," he turned his head to spy her walking over to where he was crouching, "on top of that, you're unlike any gargoyle I've ever met – and that just confuses me."

"Met? You know other gargoyles?" Demona was honestly intrigued by his statement, wondering if it happened to be any clan outside of her realm of knowledge.

"Not personally, but I've had some run-ins with some," he explained, "never fought one but I've seen them fight. Shit isn't pretty, to say the least, but effective. Especially when the victim is a human," Ramnarine plucked a blood red rose and slowly rose to his feet, finding himself face to face with Demona. Less than six inches apart, most would find being in close quarters with a hostile gargoyle absolutely unnerving, but he felt right at home. Demona on the other hand seemed more uneasy around Nightrunner, as the reality that he might be more than your run-of-the-mill-human finally began to hit her, "speaking of which - if you don't mind some more honest insight – to me…you seem more like a human in a gargoyle's body instead of the other way around."

"Come again?" the fire returned to her eyes as her pride took a merciless blow from the young man only inches away from death incarnate.

"Seriously…" he continued to tease her, "You've got this sensual stride that's as sweet as a 'vanilla sundae'. And, on top of that, this self-hating disposition that might be a secret desire to be what you hate the most. Maybe you've despised humans for so long that you've subconsciously become one," he could feel the daggers bearing down on him from her nightmarish glowing eyes. However, Ramnarine's disposition retained as casually cool as ever, "come on, admit it!" he added with a playful smirk.

"Don't try to psychoanalyze me, boy…" Max didn't have to be a genius to tell that Demona was at a height of rage that even she probably couldn't believe that she was enduring. Her voice had reached such a deceptively calm tone, that he knew it took what little was left of her composure just to keep from screaming.

"Fair enough…" a momentary chill washed over her as she had witnessed Ramnarine shift emotional gears from jovial to unfriendly in an instant, "but don't you ever call me 'boy' again," Max said sternly while beginning to remove his glasses.

"Sure…would you rather I call you-" Demona suddenly rushed him when she observed him taking off his spectacles, her hand positioned to gut him with the claws of her thrusting right hand "-a dead ma-"

It was if the world had stopped rotating. Feeling a sensation emanating from the pit of her stomach that shook her equilibrium to the very core of her being, Demona felt her entire body become numb as she dropped frontward onto the unforgiving cobblestone of the courtyard walkway. Fortunately for her striking beauty, she had descended on the side of her face, but that was the least of her concerns as the gargoyle had come to the realization that her body was completely stunned.

"GET UP!!!!!" as her still form began to shiver in atrophy, the menacing form of Max Ramnarine stood above, displaying a look of absolute disgust. In an explosion of pure anger, the young man she had once thought to be forever calm and collected had become completely unhinged – at least from the sound of his voice. All she could see was his foot as he started to lift her head with the tip of his left shoe, "KILL ME, YOU FRAUD! JUST LIKE YOU SAID YOU WOULD!!! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!!!"

_'What…did he…hit me with?'_ the question slowly manifested in her shattered mind. Demona desperately fought with every fiber of her being to force her body to move – even if it were just an inch. All the while, she desperately searched her memory of the few seconds that passed and brought about her humiliation at the deceptive hands of a human being. With all of the frustrations of the day stockpiling upon her, Demona had far surpassed the recognized thresholds of negative stress and was on the verge of a total emotional breakdown.

Her recollection barely could piece together what transpired during the 3 seconds that brought about her fallout, but she successfully connected the dots as feeling began to slowly creep back into her limbs. Whether it was slight of hand or genuine magic, Ramnarine had managed to divert her attempt on his life when her fingers were only an inch away from his stomach. Demona's memory became fuzzy after the successful evasion when the left hand of Nightrunner crashed into her abdomen with merciless velocity. The very air in her lungs vacated post-haste, throwing the gargoyle into the start of her journey into pure anguish.

However, it wasn't so much the punch that rocked her world as what came next. She hardly could remember it, but Demona was convinced that she had witnessed a wild phenomenon during the impact – a flash of overwhelming light that started as blinding neon blue and faded into a sparkling red, disappearing from her returning eyesight as she swore she spied vanishing arcs of reddish-colored electricity in her vision. Accompanying the unseen strike was a brief but encompassing and unpleasant sensation that transitioned into numbness, instantly rendering her constitution limp.

As her senses returned, the body of the winged darkstalker felt as if it had been swallowed by an inferno. The smoke she could smell and see rising from her outstretched hand confirmed just that. Suddenly, she felt her eyes subconsciously blink and the index finger of the hand in question twitch. Finally, life was returning to Demona, although taking far too long for her taste. She could never guess that she find motivation to move from the most unlikely of sources.

"A FUCKING PATHETIC DISPLAY!" Ramnarine seethed, letting her head drop heartlessly to the cold ground as he turned to walk away, "YOU'RE AS WORTHLESS AS YOUR WORDS!"

Max Ramnarine paused in the middle of his third step. Without looking, Demona's assailant knew the climate had changed – and in a heartbeat. However, glancing down at the ground and witnessing the sight of the shadow quickly casting upon him from behind confirmed his suspicions. Turning around to face his opponent, Demona stood before him with a look in her eyes that immediately struck him as odd. He caught the glint of something amazing, if only for a moment, but it was enough to tear Nightrunner out of his fit of acrimony towards her.

"This is a surprise…" he smirked, observing her quivering form. Her knees were totally shot, shaking just at the task of holding her upright. A moment later, Demona had doubled over and her empty stomach managed to turn up a mixture of fluids from its troubled depths. Devoid of whatever dignity she was clinging on to, the once proud gargoyle wiped her chin, glaring at him with a mixture of hatred, resilience, defiance and a hint of curiosity, "for someone to endure that for the first time and be able to stand is an amazing feat. I want you to know that…" he said sincerely. Ramnarine strained to hear the retort that leaked from Demona's breathless, bloodstained lips, not able to make it out the first time, "What was that?" he attempted to decipher her inaudible speech.

"…said…you're…full of shit…" she whispered, accenting the insult with a cough. However, her voice was slowly returning as she swallowed the bile in her throat that impeded her speech.

"Look…" in a vain, but honest attempt, Max began to level with her, "you're in no condition to continue this. Its ov-"

"FINISH ME!!!" her electrified words genuinely shocked him, "This doesn't end…until you're dead, understand…" Max's heart sank as he could see the tears welling up in her piercing eyes, but what amazed him more occurred next as Demona made the incredible maneuver of stepping forward. One step was all that her body had left, however, and Ramnarine knew it, "DO IT!!!"

"Sure…" the sympathetic man said with a half-hearted smile, as if he had deciphered what he could out of her 'last request', "Someone has to put you out of your misery, right?…"

Cursing the size of Nightrunner's estate, Lennox Macbeth completed his hurried descent down the grand staircase of the main hall, bolting for the foyer as fast as his now-younger legs could carry him. As the entrance grew closer, the Scotsman could spot the back of his enemy, Nightrunner, in the distance through the clear glass panes of its doors.

The Scotsman could easily see that the sun had almost finished setting, but it appeared that it was relatively bright outside. As his feet slid to a stop at the foot of the entrance, Macbeth thought that his eyes might be playing tricks on him, spying a strange phenomenon from a familiar place on yonder. In the distance beyond the courtyard before him laid the forest that he and Demona trudged through, and he clearly remembered the dense darkness of being beneath its canopy of onyx foliage. Not that he cared to acknowledge it, but if it was not for the nocturnal vision of his immortal nemesis, they would have never navigated their way through that nightmare. As he peered at it through the double doors, Macbeth could see that his current vision of the forest was contradicting his lasting memory of it.

The leaves of every tree that formed the massive forest were all glowing with a warm light, as if in defiance of nightfall. The youthful Scotsman couldn't explain why, but he put the happenstance on the backburner of his thoughts along with all of the other strange occurrences that he had seen first hand today. Besides, there was something much more important that required his attention.

Lennox Macbeth reached for the latch and had every intention to settle things in the courtyard when, yet again, something unexpected happened.

The courtyard outside erupted in a vibrant blue light, accompanied with a violent explosion. Although too far away to be a victim in the blast, an unseen force hurled Macbeth right back the way he traveled and with tremendous momentum. In rag doll-esque fashion, he careened and flipped through the air backwards, his face destined to crash into the foot of the grand staircase he had just raced down. Left to the whims of physics, all the Scotsman could do was brace his mind for impact, throwing his arms in front of him. The collision could very well kill him, he surmised, frustrated that it would delay his opportunity to put Ramnarine in his place for his crimes.

An aura of soft white energy exploded around the body of Lennox Macbeth, as he was only a few feet from where he projected his tragic end. He had no clue, however, thanks to his eyes squeezing shut out of reflex a second before the enigmatic event took place. It only added to his disorientation as he forced them open a few seconds after he predicted impact, lowering his guarding arms to find the edge of a stair a foot away from the bridge of his nose. He had come to a complete stop in mid-air, levitating magically over the foot of the staircase.

Before he could take full notice of the aura radiating from his floating body, it popped out of existence much like a bubble and he dropped clumsily onto the junction of steps and marble floor below. Collecting his senses and trying with all of his might to not dwell on the mysterious instance that just occurred, Macbeth spun on his heels and returned to his duty to Jasmine.

'_Damn…_' Nightrunner tried to suppress an inappropriate chuckle as his stood within a nearby bed of roses. Actually, his current location happened to be thirty meters from 'ground zero' – when he had granted Demona's request, '_Maybe I went overboard…_' what he had been observing was the still and peaceful form of his female opponent, as he noticed that his last attack had completely incinerated her tunic. She laid there innocently bare-breasted for the entire world to see, '_at least she's still breathing. I have to admit, she is a sight for sore ey-_'

"Nightrunner!!!" Ramnarine's perverted thoughts were placed on hold as his next guest had finally arrived, calling out to him with regal authority. With a deep sigh, Max removed his sports coat and laid it over her exposed chest. The Scotsman observed his enemy, and though he couldn't see the unconscious body of his "partner" from where he stood, Macbeth quickly tabulated the inevitable outcome, "So she couldn't even hold out for reinforcements…"

"The girl's got spunk, I give her that. Too bad I hate spu-" in the midst of turning to face the old man, Ramnarine had cut himself off to find that Macbeth was no longer old, "Wow…who's your plastic surgeon?" even from 15 meters away, Ramnarine could tell that his adversary had gone through an amazing rejuvenation.

Unlocking what was strapped to his back, Macbeth removed a long sword resting in a elegant, yet practically designed sheath. As Max slowly approached, the now-younger Scotsman kicked it across the courtyard and over of Ramnarine, who in turn casually inspected it. A sick feeling momentarily graced the pit of his stomach as he pulled the sword out of its sleeve enough to see the all-too familiar glimmer of the Rainbow Katana. He cursed under his breath, tossing it – sheath and all - into the same patch of roses where Demona lay sleeping.

"What are you doing?" Macbeth demanded to know, "I brought that-"

"So you'd have a clean conscious when you execute me, right?" Max smiled in spite of his situation, "After all, when it comes to the way of the sword, I've gotta' tell you, I don't have an ounce of talent."

"Simply put, you would be completely defenseless – am I correct?" hypothetically asked Macbeth, "Exactly like all of your victims when you enslaved and tortured them."

"That's a pretty big accusation, my judgmental friend," Max gestured with palms out for the Scotsman to slow down, "What was this chick's name, again? Wait, wait…Jasmine! That was it-"

"Either you are diabolically conniving or unbelievably stupid," Macbeth seethed, "I find it hard to believe that you would forget the name of the woman that you so ruthlessly killed."

"I don't know what you experienced out there that's given you so much of a hard-on to kill me, but it must have been one hell of a show," Max stepped a few feet to his right, putting him at the center of the stretch of courtyard walkway between them, "but like I said before, I don't personally know anyone named "Jasmine". Nor have I ever had any guests in my home that went by that name. Oh, and here's the kicker!

"I've never tortured anyone in my entire life," tired of the accusations, Ramnarine's disposition became reasonably serious, "sorry if this is breaks your heart, but you've got the wrong guy."

"Death is not something that I am a stranger to, Nightrunner," explained Lennox, "Of all those I have witnessed in their last moments, there is one consistent truth.

"The dying do not lie," with his statement, Macbeth pulled back his coat, grabbing the handle of another sword strapped to his waist.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Max said with a sigh, as he watched the Scotsman reveal what sword he had chosen. Ramnarine almost lost his breath when his eyes caught glimpse of the glowing blade, "Holy shit!" he exclaimed, "I can't believe it! You were able to get it out of there, huh?"

"I did not know it was such a feat," Macbeth admitted while gazing at the enigmatic sword that he held.

"Well, I'm sure you've heard about the "Arthurian Legend, ri-"

"Legend?" the Scotsman smirked, "Those were more than stories, lad."

"Oh…you've probably waited all your life to say that," Max beamed, "but seriously, that 'troublesome thing' must have heard about the 'Sword in the Stone' and got jealous. After it tricked me into bringing it here, it created a 'stone' of it's own and rooted itself in it – and without even asking first. And right in front of the Zeta too…"

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but this sword is called the Masamune, is it not?" Macbeth genuinely asked, readying it in both of his hands as he prepared for battle.

"I don't even want to know how you found that out," reaching behind his back, Ramnarine pulled out the trusty silver rod he had unveiled during his bout with the "Weird Sisters", "but you're right. The full name of it is the 'Masamune Granddream' -and to be chosen as its owner is a great honor, much like the Excalibur," charging the rod with his signature blue flames, the weapon extended to it's full length while engulfed in fire.

"Good to know…" the sight of the burning silver staff Ramnarine wielded was an intimidating one to the Scotsman, witnessing his enemy's "rei-ki" for the first time. However, Macbeth was confident in his skill and if the sword he held was in fact, on par with the sword of Arthurian legend, he had a powerful ally to assist him in defeating a powerful foe, "En Garde, Nightrunner."

"Whenever you're ready, your highness," Max held the staff, prepared to take what Macbeth was about to dish in his direction.

With rejuvenated vigor, the Scotsman charged Ramnarine. He expertly swung the sword with his right hand to which Max logically and narrowly responded with a parry. Contact from the mystically glowing blade to the silvery staff illuminated the air between them with a concert of sparks and a sharp clang. However, the force of the attack was not something Nightrunner was totally prepared for, as the impact sent him sliding slightly backwards across the courtyard cobblestone.

The first slash Max had parried sent vibrations throughout the flaming staff, tickling his grip on the weapon as he braced his legs in lieu of the next powerful strike. Macbeth was good, his opponent observed – actually, better than most swordsmen he had come across in battle. Ramnarine found it hard to counter Macbeth's "well-intentioned" and precise swipes, and would have to wait for him reveal an opening. That is if there was one.

Max realized quickly that there was next to nothing that he could teach Macbeth when it came to improving his sword technique, already finding it challenging to defend against numerous attempts on his life. Granted, Ramnarine knew of other individuals that could hone Macbeth's potential, but he knew for certain that candidate wasn't himself.

That was when the Nubian had noticed something peculiar. The flames of his weapon began to diminish as the glow of the Masamune had only increased in illumination. To his increasing discomfort, it didn't take long for Max to encounter the realization that if he continued to be on the receiving end, he wouldn't have a defense left.

Bringing the sword down harder on Ramnarine, it took all Max had to block it with the center of the staff, pushing against Macbeth's larger, more powerful frame. As the rod's fiery aura exploded in a weak attempt of a show of strength, Nightrunner used it as a distraction to kick his assailant in the midsection, succeeding in pushing Macbeth back.

Macbeth wildly sliced upward in retaliation, and in return, Nightrunner sidestepped with a dancer's sprightliness as he broadsided his opponent's ribcage with his silvery staff. Macbeth reeled from the impact, taking a few steps backwards to regroup his senses. In the meanwhile, Ramnarine wasted no time spinning the staff violently fast before pressing forward. Despite being far longer and much more volatile, the twirling of his burning weapon reminded the Scotsman of a circus performer using a flaming baton.

The lightning quick swings of his staff placed Macbeth on the ropes quickly. What Ramnarine didn't have in power he made up in speed as attacks came from every angle. Somehow, Lennox was able to deflect every shot but he wasn't sure how long he could keep it up. To the horror of the Scotsman, the speed of Nightrunner's assault was only increasing.

"Your move…" Ramnarine casually remarked as he accelerated the revolutions of the staff around his body. Macbeth grinded his teeth in quiet fury as he went on the defensive, cursing the fact that his adversary had become so relaxed with the swordsman's skill that he was performing a kata only a few feet away from the edge of his blade. It was a display of arrogance in the Scotsman's eyes and an act that irritated him, "looks like you want me to lead. Well, if you insist-"

A barrage ensues from Ramnarine as Macbeth struggles to block every swipe from his staff, but again, the aggressor spots an opening. At high velocity, Max threw his left knee into the Scotsman's abdomen accompanied by an uppercut from his right.

It was then that Ramnarine made a fatal error, changing the trajectory of his next crashing blow to an awkward one. Macbeth saw this as his chance to change the pace of the battle significantly and drove the Masamune towards Max's heart, which was wide open. Ramnarine could only smile as he barely avoided the blade and shoved the end of his staff into the stomach of Lennox Macbeth. An explosion of blue flame accompanied the decisive blow a split second later, making it a devastating one.

A strange occurrence changes Ramnarine's satisfied disposition, however. The Masamune exploded with light suddenly right before Macbeth was blown back from the impact, while the arm that wielded the weapon began to act independently. As if it had a mind of its own, the Scotsman's possessed arm sliced across his front, opening up a slight gash in the back of Max's right forearm and hand. It was so incredibly fast that the young man almost didn't catch sight of the countering strike and pull back his arm enough in time to avoid its filleting.

The precision of the blind attack and the sharpness of the mythical weapon was enough to make Max Ramnarine leap back in instant trepidation. Witnessing the unnatural response of the Scotsman's successful strike and the reaction of the sword before it, brought the staff wielder to one conclusion-

Flying back and sliding along the courtyard cobblestone, Macbeth rolled to a stop and onto his stomach. To add insult to his bleeding injury, Max was amazed to find that despite taking the tremendous blast, Macbeth's hold on the sword never relaxed. His astonishment mounted as the Scotsman struggled to rise again and within a few seconds, had accomplished just that. His fighting stance may have been shaky, but Lennox Macbeth wasn't ready to throw in the towel just yet.

"Shit…" cursing under his breath, Nightrunner pocketed a grip on the rod under his arm as he reached into his left pocket. Withdrawing a white handkerchief, he tied it around his right hand with his left and his teeth. Doing so was his best attempt to prevent his hold on his weapon to become slick with the river of scarlet running down his damaged arm. '_What's it going to take to disarm this guy?_' Max thought as he made a few steps backward until his legs pressed against the raised pool of the illuminated fountain at the center of the courtyard, '_He's not leaving me with many options…_'

At the same time, Macbeth regained his balance and focus, nursing a split lip and spotting Ramnarine almost thirty meters away. As his opponent finalized the knot in his handkerchief, the Scotsman finally came to his senses enough to spot where Nightrunner had made his stand.

"Nice one, Lennox!" Max raised his voice, incidentally helping to bring the Scotsman back to reality, "But you should have a talk with your 'partner'," smirked Max as he gripped the staff in both hands again, "it's beginning to second-guess you."

"What?" Macbeth shot back, trying not to be bothered by his enigmatic words. Nonetheless, the swordsman knew for certain that he was in no condition to do what he did to Nightrunner at the time it happened. Adding to the disorientation of being punched, feeling his right arm tense and go into action without his guidance was something that disturbed him more. Before "autopilot" engaged, Macbeth recalled feeling an enigmatic tingling in his arm that ignited his reason for concern in the first place. Not that he wanted to believe it was possible, but the Scotsman had become convinced that the Masamune had everything to do with the damage done to Ramnarine.

_'Dammit!'_ Macbeth thought as he wiped some of the trickling scarlet from his lips, standing at the ready. Sadly, he wasn't prepared at all for the magnitude of Nightrunner's mysterious powers, as the pain from the blast wreaked havoc throughout his entire body, _'This must be how he defeated Demona so easily. Is it magic?…No, for that one would have to conjure or summon a spell, and he is not doing anything remotely close. How is he able to create those flames?'_ Macbeth's thoughts began to border on panic even though he wrestled to keep his composure.

"Don't feel too bad, 'king'," Ramnarine continued in a poor attempt to find common ground with Macbeth, "that damn sword did that to me too when I first found it. When it manipulated me to bring it back here, it decided to root itself until its next intended owner would claim it. The Masamune must have known all along that you were coming."

"If that is true, then it has decided wisely," Macbeth's confidence was slowly resurfacing as he could feel the energy that the sword emitted flowing through him, "I couldn't leave something as special as this in the hands of a villain like you."

"Now we're getting full of ourselves," sighed Nightrunner, "with things the way they are, I don't think I'll be able to straighten out this misunderstanding unless I get that sword out of your hand first. But despite the futility in attempting to dissuade you from this, I can't help but try –"

"There is only one outcome to this, Nightrunner," Macbeth interrupted, "and that is for one of us to die. Face your fate and prepare to answer for your crimes," again, the Scotsman positioned himself and the Masamune to charge their adversary.

"Believe me…" Ramnarine started another set of revolutions around his body with his enflamed staff as his demeanor saddened slightly, "death wouldn't do justice enough…" he said solemnly. Those words of self pity caught Macbeth off-guard for a moment as he was about to rush Max, leaving Lennox to process their meaning for a moment. The conclusion the statement brought him too had only enraged him more.

"You audacious bastard!!!" The Scotsman snapped, practically fuming, "Now that Jasmine is dead, you have the nerve to feign regret for what you did to her?!"

"I have no clue what you're talking about, jack," Max scowled at the hostility in his voice and decided to take action first, as the staff that the fire trailing around it began to revolve around him at unbelievable speeds, "but I'm bringing this exercise in miscommunication to a close!"

Not only did it appear that Ramnarine had surrounded himself in an orb of blue inferno, he had been twirling the blazing weapon so quickly it defied physics and made his movements blur within the rippling heat waves. Macbeth couldn't believe his eyes and his first instinct was to find cover before his nemesis did the inevitable and unleashed his unholy flames upon him. It was not to be so, however as he found his legs suddenly immobile while the glow of the Masamune washed over his body and locked him in suicidal stance of contumacy. Witnessing what was to come next, the Scot's eyes widened to the terror-filled sight of hell unleashed.

"AURA-" Nightrunner had bellowed as his revolutions came to a head. In an act of bursting the sphere of blazing blue spiritual energy (or "Rei-ki") swirling around him, Max violently swung his staff in an arc upwards and above him with all of the strength and the speed he could muster, "-SOUNDWAVE!!!!" he shouted the name of his technique upon execution. The motion tore the bubble and threw it into the formation of a crescent shaped wave rocketing across the cobblestone and towards its intended victim – the unfortunately frozen Lennox Macbeth.

Max smiled as he watched his assault race towards the Scotsman, thinking it had been all too long since he had even performed that maneuver in the first place. He had also expected Macbeth to avoid being hit by it entirely, hoping that his opponent would come to his stubborn senses and admit defeat after seeing such a display of power. However, to Ramnarine's own terror, he was astonished to find that Macbeth hadn't moved and inch, provoking Max to even cry out for concern.

"What the hell are you doing?!!!" the Nubian martial artist managed to yell a few seconds before impact would take place, "MOVE!!!" all the while, Ramnarine's concern should have been directed elsewhere as the ground beneath his feet began to eerily glow with the same luster as the Masamune Granddream.

Too immersed in the thought of being consumed by the flaming wave of neon azure filling his view, Nightrunner's last second advisory didn't even register in Macbeth's ears. The intense heat only grew as the spiritual projectile closed in on him, prompting Lennox to sweat more than he had done from the tension of being a sitting duck in the first place. Macbeth's life would have flashed before his eyes right before contact with the "Aura Soundwave", but after facing death so many times today, he just didn't have the energy left to do so again.

Nightrunner decided to take matters into his own hands as he closed his eyes and focused his mind on one simple, yet naturally impossible, objective. When he opened his eyes a moment later, he found that the wave of fiery destruction still coasting after the Scotsman with increasing viscosity.

'_Why didn't time st-'_ he began to ask himself in frantic thought as he looked down. The sight of the mysteriously glowing spot on the cobblestone halted his self-inquiry and the instinct to move overwhelmed him, _'What the hell is this?!!!'_ unable to move his legs and free his feet from the spot, Ramnarine's brow beaded with sweat as the realization of what was going on slowly hit him.

On the other side of the spectrum and with less than three seconds before he endured a relentless blue hell, Macbeth mentally readied himself for the fury to come. It wouldn't have been the first time that he had faced a hopeless situation, but a literal trial by fire ranked very low on the list of hardships he ever had wanted to face. About to close his eyes in acceptance, they only widened further as Lennox Macbeth witnessed another incredible sight.

Exploding with luminance rivaled only by lightning, the Masamune had manipulated Macbeth into swinging the enigmatic blade into the "Aura Soundwave", instantly transforming it into a massive fireball the size of a sedan and burning pure white. The deflection was as simple as a game-winning homerun, sending it back at Ramnarine at speeds thrice-fold.

Macbeth could only watch in amazement, although control of his body had at last been returned to him and his adversary was left with no choice but to play a human statue. Max Ramnarine still found his legs still locked in place on the magical spot that glued him to the ground he stood upon. He laughed to himself quietly as he put his glasses away in his pants pocket, gazing at the comet of white hot death making a beeline to his position.

_'Hoisted by my own-'_ Nightrunner managed to tell himself with a smirk before the fireball crashed into him, swallowing him while crashing into the fountain behind him.

Upon impact with the spectacle, the Scotsman witnessed its explosion as it shattered the construct and rained water and concrete all over the courtyard. When the last of the debris touched down, all that was left of the fountain was a demolished pool that hosted at its center a geyser of cold water from the wrecked piping where the structure had once stood. Sprawled out in the wreckage of the pool, Macbeth also spotted something else as he began to amble towards ground zero.

Reaching the edge of the demolished pool, the swordsman found exactly what he expected. The body of his adversary, Nightrunner, laid face up in the shallow water as he emanated steam from his still, unconscious form. Macbeth found it as amazing as he did aggravating that the deflected, not to mention, far-more-powerful-than-initially-intended "Aura Soundwave" didn't finish Ramnarine as he'd hoped. It wasn't difficult for the former king of Scots to realize that the water from the fountain must have played a major part protecting Ramnarine from mortal danger. Regardless, the Scotsman could clearly see that Nightrunner would be stirring anytime soon and decided to take advantage of the situation.

"This is not how I wished for your life to end, Nightrunner," Macbeth said remorsefully as he stood over Max's body. His actions however were far less forgiving of Ramnarine as he positioned the tip of the Masamune directly above the heart of it's victim, about to deliver a downward thrust that would surely liquidate the young Nubian, "Despite being a tyrant, every warrior should die on their feet. However, that is a luxury I cannot afford and one you clearly do not deserve..." the Scotsman raised the blade slightly, giving him more leverage for the final blow.

"Mar sin leibh, Maximillian..." with his final farewell said, Lennox Macbeth wasted no more time and commenced with the execution.

The repeat of this happenstance was enough to make him almost grind his teeth to their breaking point. Finding himself locked in a frozen position again, Macbeth stood above his prey with the tip of the glowing Masamune touching the fibers of the shirt that stood between it and the heart of Max Ramnarine. Things only grew weirder as the light of the Masamune exploded washing over everything in sight with it's brilliance. As the sword vanished from the Scotsman's hands, he felt himself being pulled upwards as the magical luminescence condensed into a column of light with him at the center and stretching towards the heavens. Having no control over what was happening, Lennox found himself the total prisoner of the phenomenon as he floated upward to destinations unknown. The entire event lasted for only a few moments and ended as the column and Macbeth faded from sight and into the night sky, leaving his scream of helplessness and terror to echo across the valley.

Her screaming broke the silence that had settled in the room while her fingers clawed into bed sheets and her hands grasped whatever linen laid within reach. Completely disoriented by awakening in a strange bed and mentally unprepared for the transformation she was enduring, Demona still managed to push herself up from the soft mattress of which she was soundly sleeping upon moments before.

Directly in front of the bed, a few feet away and sitting in reverse on a chair, Ramnarine brushed the towel that was draped over his soaked mop of braids from his eyesight to get another good look at her torturous metamorphosis. Covering up the cut that he received from the Masamune, he had dressed his left forearm and the back of that hand with gauze and ace bandages. They appeared to be applied with the care and expertise of someone who had practiced it often.

Max was not one to have compassion for this woman, but realizing that she went through this agony on a daily basis did coerce him into feeling a brief moment of sympathy for the now-human Demona. Just as her transformation came to an end, the redhead collapsed back onto the bed in absolute exhaustion.

"I never get tired of seeing that..." Max smirked as he jested about her painful experience. The sound of his smug voice inspires Demona to turn onto her back despite the agony of moving even slightly, "one of these days, you've gotta' tell me exactly why a gargoyle that hates humans so much changes into one during the day. Seems like one big cosmic joke, if you ask me," he teased with a lecherous smile that only annoyed her more as she groggily sat up.

"No one did," she sharply retorted with all of the disdain her tired voice could muster, shortly before she noticed her current state of being.

"Aren't you cold?" he asked as Demona reeled in shock about her over-exposure, pulling the blanket quickly over her torso while blushing about her embarrassment. It tickled the perverted Ramnarine pink and couldn't imagine that fiery woman he faced off with hours ago could be so sheepish, "Hey, now...there's nothing there you should be ashamed of, darling. To be honest, most chicks would be envious of what you have," hanging over the back of the chair that he leaned forward against, he grabbed a t-shirt that was draped over it and tossed it casually.

Unfortunately, it parachuted onto her head and face thanks to her being too preoccupied with covering up to catch it. Max could see the hellish red glow of her furious glare emanating through the white t-shirt, which only made him snicker inappropriately. Totally frustrated at the awkwardness of it all, Demona dove underneath the sheets to slip into the clothing he offered her, additionally pissed that she was taking charity from a human. While underneath, she was relieved to find that at least her loincloth was still intact.

"It's not too hard to figure how long you were out," Max added, finding her rustling under the sheets rather humorous, "with your sunrise wake-up ca-"

"My clothes!" she snapped upon her sudden emergence from the depths of linen, "What did you do with them?!" Demona demanded of him.

"It's no surprise that you don't remember…" he said, "being knocked unconscious can do that. What was the last thing you do remember?" Ramnarine watched as the wheels in Demona's mind began to turn and rewind her last memory of their confrontation. After a few seconds, he began to give up hope that she retained any of it until she unexpectedly spoke.

"You hit me with something…" she recollected looking off to the side as she scanned her memories, "what I remember was your hand…" at that moment she slowly returned her eyes to him with an expression of fear and curiosity as the picture in her mind became clear.

"It was on fire…" Demona couldn't believe what she was saying, but that was exactly what she remembered from the night before, "…not regular flames either…They were blue…"

"You mean-" Ramnarine pointed the index finger of his left hand upward as a plume of his trademark "rei-ki" materialized above it, "-like this?" Much like the pilot light of a gas stove, the flame burned brightly and the sight of it left Demona speechless – but only for a few moments.

"Is that sorcery?" she finally found the ability to speak, asking the very question he predicted.

"Not at all. Magic and I don't have the best of relationships to begin with," he admitted, although the meaning behind his words were a complete mystery to her, "besides, sorcery is far too unpredictable a force to rely on, if you don't mind me saying."

"Then how in the world are you doing that?" Demona clearly wanted to know and wasn't hiding her interest in the slightest, surprising Ramnarine in the process. He could see that her eagerness to learn the answer was also bordering on impatience.

"Easy now, I was just about to tell you," he remarked as the flame suddenly vanished, leaving behind a phantom trail of smoke that in turn dissipated into thin air. The wonder in her eyes faded a bit on its departure but once he started talking again, Ramnarine had her full attention.

"All living beings emit a spiritual energy, or 'rei-ki', as it's said in Japanese," explained Max, "not to get too technical, but with enough practice and the right training, most anyone can tap into theirs and manipulate it into a tangible form that can be used in different ways. For instance, I can turn mine into flames when I fight, but I can use my rei-ki to heal injuries of people other than myself. Not extreme ones, but cuts and broken bones aren't difficult for me to mend at all.

"It was something I had considered passing along to you and Macbeth if I went along with what the 'girls' had to commissioned me to do," Ramnarine continued, "and judging from how our meeting went down yesterday, you two don't have much of a clue what that is exactly."

"I remember you speaking about those 'witches' hiring you to train Macbeth and I to work together," she recalled, looking around the room, "what did you do with him, anyway?"

"Not a damn thing," Max said, perturbed at her insinuation while keeping what happened between the Scotsman and him as vague as possible, "we had a falling out and he went his own way. Mac did leave me with this memento, though…" Ramnarine pointed her attention to the bandaged wound on his arm, grinning at his misfortune, "he actually was able to come a lot closer to taking me out than you were."

"I'm sure it was entirely luck," she dismissed his souvenir as well as the idea that Macbeth could be skilled enough to pull off such a feat, "so, are you saying that you would teach us how to properly use our…how did you say it? 'Ray-chee'?" she said with a bit of enthusiasm in her voice.

"Close enough…" Max sighed at her attempt at phonetically pronouncing "rei-ki", "I considered it, but at this point, I'm not sure if I should."

"And why the hell not?" Demona was quick to ask, somewhat offended at his apprehension.

"You've got to be kidding," Max slid the towel off of his head, hanging it over the back of the chair he sat backwards on, "When Macbeth was part of the equation, it may have not been such a bad idea since he's the only person around that can stop you permanently. But without him there to help keep things balanced, I'd only be helping to create a monster."

"I resent that, Nightrunner," Demona countered, pretending as if her feelings were hurt. It was obvious, however, that it was for the most part a sarcastic act in response to his harsh opinion, "don't act like you know me, because you have no idea who I am."

"Yesterday's first impression was enough, thanks," Max smirked in spite of his last experience with her, "Ask yourself a question. Would you help to develop a human that hated gargoyles as much as you despise humans into a genocidal weapon of mass destruction?" he waited for a response but after seeing the change in her demeanor from defiant to submissive, he knew he wouldn't get an answer that mattered, "Exactly. At least with Macbeth on the same learning curve, I'd have an ace in the hole if in the rare chance your skills did surpass mine."

"Do you…think I have that kind of potential?" in a surprising turn in character, the usually indomitable Demona revealed a hint of humility in her words, "I know it isn't any secret that I don't care at all for your kind, but you can't begin to understand what I've been through or for how long."

"Try me…" Max retorted, leaning against the back of the chair again with arms folded, "I'm all ears."

"Can a mortal like you could ever comprehend how it is to live an endless life under constant persecution? An entire planet dedicated to the extinction of your race and being the only one alive that can save them," Ramnarine had never seen Demona as sincere as she was relaying her plight to him, "everyday, I have lived with my back against the wall protecting myself and my scattered people, so if there is something I can learn or do in order to tip the scales in our favor, I will do whatever it takes to make that happen.

"Even if it is admitting defeat to a human," she said with a heavy heart, "and becoming his student…or worse…"

"Worse?" Max asked, curious about what she meant, "Elaborate on that."

"I've already seen your handy work on the human the old fool and I buried on the way here," Demona explained as Max tried to make sense of it all, "you imprisoned a woman named-"

"Jasmine-" they both said simultaneously, with Max asking her name and sliding his hand over his face in mild frustration.

"Yes…'Jasmine', that was her name," the redhead went on, saying her name with the least bit of respect for the dead, "when I think back, I remember seeing burn marks on her body, including some in the shape of handprints. The violations you humans inflict upon each other-"

"Wait…wait…wait…I can explain…" Max sighed in defeat.

"Is that so?" Demona asked, slightly curious.

"Hell no, I can't," Max snapped, startling Demona for a moment, "it feels like the hundredth time that I've said this today, but I never heard about this Jasmine before until you two came waltzing into my home. Not that you believe me, but I had nothing to do with torturing any woman. Period."

"I honestly don't care," Demona admitted much to Ramnarine's chagrin, "the skeletons in your closet are yours to keep. But I meant it when I said that I'll do what it takes to get what I want," the femme fatale crawled from underneath the sheets with feline grace as she advanced towards the foot of the bed where his chair rested, "Being that I can't take your tutelage by force, I have no choice but to reduce myself to your whims," she spoke ever so sensually as she reached the end of the king-sized mattress, "whatever those may be…"

"Really?" Ramnarine said with a lecherous grin that disturbed her momentarily. However, she slipped back into her seductive gaze quickly, trying to play off her self-disgust of how low she had sunk.

"Anything…" she said in a breathless voice, summoning every ounce of charm and lust she could muster for a human in her bedroom eyes. Quite honestly, this was the single hardest act she had ever performed in her extremely long life.

"You're serious about this 'rei-ki' stuff, aren't you, baby?" he teased as he appeared to be interested. Her answer was only a simple nod, desperately holding her tongue in fear of revealing how much animosity she had towards this proposal. Little did she know that she would soon find release from the turmoil raging inside her, "Too bad I'm not into redheads, 'Scarlet'-"

"What?!" infuriated, Demona asked as her real feelings breached her act and rose to the surface.

"-otherwise I just might have taken you up on that offer," Max finished his statement with a smile that delighted in her disappointment, "Seriously, though, it comes down to one factor. You hate humans. I can't bring myself to empower a racist, no matter how tempting."

"What are you so afraid of?!" she questioned him as her blood boiled, "Are you that scared I might defeat you-" he suddenly tossed the chair aside as she could see a flash of rage in his eyes. Overwhelming her with the pressure of pure intimidation, Demona backpedaled on the bed until she found herself against the headboard, all the while followed by Ramnarine as he crawled after her on the bed and never broke his eyesight with hers.

"This goes without saying, but I have loved ones that just HAPPEN to be human," he spoke sternly, "I won't endanger them making them easier prey for your 'ethnic cleansing'. Of all of the things you actually remembered you forget to mention that I told you we had met before yesterday. From that experience alone, I have all the reason I need to not teach you anything," he grabbed her shivering wrist, locking it tightly in his hand but not squeezing it painfully. Demona was too enraptured in fear to fight back, believing that it was this kind of intimidation that Jasmine was probably subject too.

There was a strong feeling of Déjà vu that she couldn't shake when she peered into his furious eyes, as if she had gazed into that same glare of animosity another time in the distant past. The same phenomenon had hit her when she squared off with Ramnarine the night before, except that this time the feeling was impossible to ignore.

"Answer this question honestly for me," Nightrunner subtlety commanded, "and before you bullshit me, know that I already know the answer. Insult me with a lie and whatever slim chances you had to learn anything from me are finished," increasing the tension he leaned in slightly further as she found the heart to nod, "in all of your years, have you ever killed any humans that were unable to defend themselves?"

Demona couldn't explain it, but the striking anxiety she felt in the company of a menacing Nightrunner slowly faded as her own ire came into fruition. Confidence washed over her face as determination filled her eyes and she returned a stare of contempt. She smiled rebelliously as she honored his request and told him nothing but the truth-

"Do onto others as they do unto you," Demona snatched her wrist out of his forceful grip as she returned as much disdain as he gave, "those are words that you humans live by, right? Just as they shattered my people as they lay defenseless in stone sleep, I've returned the favor over the years. I'm not ashamed of what I've done to survive and I'll continue to stab your kind in the back until you no longer exist!" she seethed with eloquence. Seconds passed as both of them continued their glare-off in silence, finally not exchanging any words but both searching for something vulnerable in the other.

"I see…" Ramnarine was the first to withdraw, sliding off of the bed and walking over to the chair he knocked over, setting it upright again, "you'll find a few new outfits hanging near the entrance of the wardrobe closet right next to the bathroom," he pointed across the room to the sections in question but kept his back turned to Demona, "I'm sure I got your measurements right, but if not you can tell me tonight when we meet up."

"Where exactly will that be?" Demona inquired as she observed him walking over to his dresser and grabbing a navy blue windbreaker lying atop it.

"Behind this estate you'll find a waterfall and lake," he explained, donning the jacket that he acquired, "I'll rendezvous with you there at midnight with a decision about your training. Until then, get washed up and do what you want," as he straightened out the collar of his windbreaker, Max Ramnarine made his way to the door of his room as he looked to leave.

"Wait!" Demona pushed herself off the bed in hopes to pursue him, "Where are you going?" the sprightly redhead sprinted after him as he exited the room, closing the door behind him. It only took her a few seconds to cross the room and jolt into the hallway, but despite her haste, Nightrunner was nowhere to be found, "Mysterious bastard…" she cursed as she returned to the bedroom.

Demona leaned on the door after shutting it behind her, staring into the bathroom and catching sight of a luxurious tub that laid in waiting for her. A long soak would help wash away some of the vexation she experienced at the hands of Macbeth and Ramnarine that day, she thought. Without further ado, the redhead strolled inside the chambers of the bourgeois washroom with a smile of satisfaction, closing the door with the casual kick of her foot.

Downstairs, Nightrunner stopped at courtyard center as a cool breeze tickled the roses around him, carrying their fragrance. He reached into the pocket of his windbreaker as he removed something special from inside its contents.

_'She did a great job with the fountain'_, Max remarked in thought as he took a moment to admire a miracle. The fountain that was utterly destroyed in Macbeth's counterattack hours before had been restored to its former glory as if never ruined to begin with. He opened his right hand to reveal what he had been carrying – a golden pendant made with an enchanting and ornate design. He held it up above his view of the fountain, staring at it intently, '_now for the million dollar question… _

_'How in the hell did Demona get this?...' _


	7. Fallen Dynasty

Chrono Trigger Omega  
Episode Zero Zero One  
Character Interlude Four – "Fallen Dynasty"

This first thing I remember that slowed my racing heart was the affirming sensation of my feet falling gently upon terra firma. Around me, the world was still drowned out from sight in a blinding white aura, but through my squinted eyes I began to notice that the radiating glow was beginning to fade.

That sword…the "Masamune", was it? Until holding that sword, I haven't felt a sensation so empowering in my entire time trapped in my immortal coil. The euphoria I experienced from the mystical sword's first vision had been so intoxicating that I never wanted it to end.

Gruoch…

My thoughts drift to her as I remember the sweet nostalgia of gazing upon her again. Whether it was truly her reaching to me from the great beyond or the entities of the Masamune using her form as an avatar to insure my attention, being with her again resurrected something within me that I thought I lost when she died so long ago.

For the first time in a long time, I have the desire to live.

At least I had. Not feeling the Masamune in my hands, nor the sheath around my waist, drained whatever optimism I briefly had for my endless future. Meanwhile, my eyesight slowly returns to me, as I can begin to notice my surroundings. Once the enigmatic light finally faded, my eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness of nightfall and the soft lights of the glowing forest around me. I gaze above to spot the trio of moons high in the sky, and despite my disorientation, it wasn't hard to tell that I hadn't left the mysterious world I awoke into this morning.

Nightrunner's courtyard was where I was not, however, as I foolishly decided to take a step forward while still looking moonward. Almost tripping on an object lying on the grass of the clearing I currently found myself, I miraculously regained my balance after stumbling forward. It was in fierce agitation that I captured the instrument of my near pratfall from underneath my feet, recognizing it immediately.

"This is…" I managed to utter as I held the neck of a shovel, one of the pair the "Demon" and I used this afternoon. That was when I heard it – the gentle sound of a river flowing in the distance, prompting me to turn in the direction of its source. Only a few feet ahead lay the river, but before it was an even more familiar sight. With shovel in hand, I slowly approached a tree standing alone in the clearing and near the river in question.

Underneath the warm glow of its foliage was the grave of Jasmine, and resting atop it, blue rose Demona had left behind. I knew better than to believe that monster to have anything sentimental to offer in regards of a victimized human, but there was something in the act that did strike me as odd. Did she actually exhibit a sliver of compassion in that brief moment? I honestly doubt it, but maybe I'll have a chance to ask the woman I named "Demona" someday.

Right before I kill her.

"I have to apologize…" lowering to one knee before the freshly turned soil of her grave, I began to speak to her as if she could receive my voice, "I failed you completely, lass. Your revenge was in my grasp, but just as I-"

Decades, if not centuries, have passed during my time where I have not witnessed an instance of witchcraft. Today appears to be making up for those lost years as yet another strange occurrence leaves me momentarily speechless. At least I had the presence of mind to jump to my feet after catching sight of a neon blue glow emanating from the rose left atop Jasmine's grave.

I knew not to make light of any occurrences where sorcery was involved, encouraged to take a few steps in retreat as I watch the sparkling rose suddenly sink into the surface of the grave as if it were quicksand. A moment later, plant life began to sprout from the soil at abnormal speed, sprouting into a multitude of radiating blue roses – enough to blanket the entire resting place Demona and I had engineered only hours before. In spite of my wariness, I couldn't help but smirk as the soft white aura from the lone tree that canopied the gravesite also faded into a matching azure luster.

The temperature suddenly went from comfortable to chilling while a gentle breeze swirled around me. The glow of the roses ascended slowly from the flowers while shaping into a form that was recognizably humanoid, floating casually in my direction and becoming all the more detailed. I fought the desperate urge to flee from the unknown, knowing that I had nothing to fear from what was manifesting before me and even if my life was in danger, I'd gladly welcome it.

I couldn't believe my eyes as I watched the sentient aura mold into a solid, yet ghostly transparent shape. Never did I expect a reunion with the person standing before me but I indeed found myself standing only a foot away from the smiling ghost of the violated young woman I came across this morning.

"You look different, but I can still tell that it's you," her sensual, melodic voice projected into my mind, more so than into my ears – if at all – as I tried to comprehend the vision before me, "It's good to see you again, Lennox," spoke the sparkling blue phantom of Jasmine, "I appreciate your attempt to stop Nightrunner, but in the end I'm just happy that you survived an encounter with him."

I wanted to say something. Anything. Words wouldn't escape my lips as I continued to find myself speechless at the spectacle that was Jasmine. She stood before me in the same scintillating sundress I had first met her wearing, however, upon our reunion, it was no longer tattered, torn or bloodied as I remembered. Instead Jasmine and the clothing she wore were picture perfect, and if it wasn't for the fact that she was now a specter, the young woman would be the picture of health. That didn't change the fact that Jasmine was a vision of beauty, and exposed an allure that I regretted not seeing more of during her short life.

"How…" I finally managed to enable my vocal cords into action, "how is this…possible?" it was impossible for me not to ask. I may have seen many things in my time, but apparitions were extremely rare to come across – even for me.

"I can't explain it either," Jasmine said, slightly troubled about her current state, "but I do know that this world of Nightrunner's is about as abnormal as places come."

"I second that, lassie," I said, inadvertently causing her to smile. I couldn't help but return one myself after falling victim to her radiance, "I had a feeling this couldn't be…'home'…" I found myself to have an extremely hard time adjusting to the concept that I might no longer be on the only "planet" I had ever known, namely "Earth". I almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but in respect to Jasmine's traumatic experience here and the fragility of the forces behind our meeting, I kept my composure for the moment, "but if that is the case, by what means did that bastard bring you here?"

"It was horrible…" despite my efforts, it appeared that I managed to upset her, as I could see her disposition change for the worse, "when Nightrunner took me…it was on my wedding night," apparently the memory had disturbed her so much that it brought her to tears and caused her to choke on her words.

"Jasmine, if it's too much to recall, I won't ask that of you," I did my best to calm her. Looking into the tear-filled eyes of an alluring phantom, it was easy to become lost in them. So much so, I couldn't fathom what was to happen next, when she suddenly ran towards me as a tortured soul seeking comfort. I was already in shock to find that her hands actually made contact with me as if she was still flesh and blood, only to be thrown into madness as the world around me instantly dissolved into darkness.

The disorientation I experienced was stronger this time than what I experienced moments earlier after my abrupt arrival in the clearing. Regardless, I forced my eyes open to find a lit candle holder in my hand, while my other gripped the handle of a door. This wasn't your average door, but one that I remember fondly from better times. Made with heavy wood as doors were in medieval times, it took a bit more effort to push the double-doored entrance open than your modern faire, but opened them I did –and with vigor.

Just as I suspected, right behind them was exactly as my memories suspected – the royal bedroom of the castle I had once ruled from so long ago. It was exactly as I remembered from a night that I would never forget. The night that Gruoch and I were-

"Well, husband," as the doors closed behind me, my eyes came across a living angel, "I was beginning to wonder if you would ever arrive," as if blessed with unearthly fortune, I was reunited again by the only woman that I have ever loved, as she arose from the bed before me.

"Gruoch…," advancing with all the grace of royalty, this woman was already a queen before we were married, as far as I was concerned. Still adorned in her wedding dress, my blushing bride fell into my arms and my nose grazed across her perfumed hair. Feeling the warmth of her body against mine, the very sensation of holding her again caused every inch of my skin to tingle.

I was convinced that I was reliving another memory, brought upon from either the unaccounted-for Masamune Granddream or coming in contact with a distressed spirit. It could have been the end result of both reacting with each other, but the details of why meant nothing to me during that moment. Being with the woman I loved and reliving a cherished memory that appeared to be unbelievably real were the only things that concerned me. Seeing the reflection of the both of us in a mirror across the room, I found that I had returned to my older self, but still I didn't care. This was a stitch in time that I prayed would never end.

In my present, there was nothing but an empty void in my infinite existence. For a man whose lasting treasure was memories of a normal life, the past is all I have. Kissing my wife, long lost to the winds of time, only reassured me of that.

"You won't have to wait a second longer, my love," I assured her sweeping her up into my arms, much to her surprise and amusement. About to chart a course to our bed, the climate suddenly changed when we both stumbled upon an unexpected obstacle.

"Young love…" his all-too familiar voice spoke with feigned sincerity. Just seeing him within the confines of our room- no, within the sacred haven of my memories was a transgression that impeded upon my very soul. Standing before us was none other than Nightrunner, slyly smiling like the true villain Jasmine had described, "Congratulations, Mac!" he extended his hand to shake as I wasted no time placing Gruoch behind me and reaching for my sword. The trusty blade that I had always carried in those times, however, was mysteriously absent from my side, placing us both in a significant disadvantage against the dangerous Ramnarine.

"What's wrong, Lennox?" our uninvited guest appeared jovial as he could clearly see I was far from welcoming.

"Who is this, husband?" Gruoch asked, unaware of the history between Nightrunner and I. Or, in this case, our future.

"Come on, man," Ramnarine insisted, "you've gotta introduce me to the vision of beauty that is your wife. You're one lucky cat, Lenny…" he admitted taking a step towards us. This bastard was unbelievable. In between his words and his disrespectfully casual behavior, I was incensed to degrees I had never knew were possible.

'It was horrible…' Jasmine, ever so distraught, flashed into my mind as I remembered her words, 'when Nightrunner took me…it was on my wedding night…'

I had finally reached my boiling point, as her words drove me wild with rage. Springing into action, I recklessly dove straight for Nightrunner as my hands reached out for his throat.

"Now, now, your highness," Ramnarine smirked after quickly catching my wrists, "I came all this way to make love, not war," his strength was inhuman, as his deceptively lean frame almost overpowered me twice over. Already crippled from his punishing grip on my arms, the situation continued to worsen after he delivered his merciless knee to my stomach. My legs instantly gave out and upon my descent he added insult to injury, driving a blinding head butt straight home while finally releasing my wrists.

The next thing I knew, my eyes were regaining their focus as I found myself gazing upon the ceiling and fighting to keep conscious. Gruoch quickly came into view when she fell onto her knees next to me in urgent concern.

"Unfortunately for you-" the unsavory invader approached my vulnerable form, "-the one I came to make love with is your blushing bride."

"Lennox!" Gruoch, at the height of distress, held up my head, "Are you alright? Please say something!"

"R-r-r…" I fought to speak as I tried to rise, "…run…" I warned her the best way I could in my ruined state.

"I won't leave you, my love," she said in that defiant way that I adored, releasing me soon as I could prop myself off of my back which my hands. She rose, standing between myself and Nightrunner, as she glared at him fearlessly. I struggled with my legs, which were as stable as gelatin, while fearing for my newlywed wife who had no idea what horrors this man was capable of. Ramnarine leaned intimately close to Gruoch attempting to steal a kiss, but, to my satisfaction and greatest fear, received a different experience entirely.

"Who the hell do you think you are?!!!" snapped my wife after peppering Ramnarine's cheek with the most spectacular slap I had ever witnessed. The spectacle was so amazing, it was a bonus to see him knocked off balance and stumble aside momentarily in it's wake, "How dare you strike the King of Scotland?!!!"

"Lady Macbeth…" Ramnarine rubbed his cheek as his evil smile returned, "Every bit the firebrand I expected…" fighting to keep consciousness, something happened next that brought me back to my senses.

His movements were lightning fast, but thanks to an opportune blink of my eyes I witnessed the flash of Ramnarine's hand thrust into the abdomen of my love and instantly rendering her helpless. When she fell into the open arms of her attacker and soon-to-be enslaver, I had come to realize that every second I was wasting on the floor was ensuring Gruoch a fate worse than death. Nightrunner had taken a moment to examine his prey in her sleeping form smiling lustfully before suddenly catching sight of something else.

"Hey now, your lordship…" he smirked, spotting my struggle to lift myself from where he had dispatched me. Throwing my wife over his shoulder with no more regard than one would do with a sack of potatoes, the sight of that enraged me more than anything I had ever witnessed in my life.

This monster has to die. Post-haste.

"Don't get up, Lenny," the bastard had the nerve to joke as I was almost up on one knee, "I can see myself out," Ramnarine turned away from me, walking across the bedroom to the window where I suddenly realized he must have made his entry. He might have scaled the tower where he had found my quarters, but how could he make his descent to escape with a hostage in tow?

As I finally regained my footing and desperately tried to piece together what was left of my equilibrium, he was already at the window and preparing to jump like a madman to a fall that would ensure both their deaths. A rush of adrenaline came to me in the eleventh hour, focusing my mind, pain and strength on only one thing – saving my wife. My older form broke into a dash that would have shocked even me at the time - that is if I hadn't more important things weighing on my mind.

"Gruuuuoooch!!!!!" I shouted at I watched the inevitable as I reached the halfway point of my dart – the horror of Nightrunner's suicide jump with my love in his arms. I slid to a stop meters before the window, almost hesitant to look at the disaster that awaited my eyes when I did. Suddenly, a distinct, soft sound whirred in my ears as I had finally taken the time to notice it and its source outside the window.

Ramnarine might have been an anachronism, what floated ahead and the outside of my tower window wall turned out to be an even bigger anomaly. There he stood, lowering Gruoch into the rear seat of a jet black flying machine the shape of an arrowhead that had been rounded and polished. Gold framed wings jutted from its sides, giving the device the more of a boomerang design, with two more-shark finned wings of the same style rising from the rear of aircraft which as at the moment had been facing in my direction. After laying my wife across the leather-bound and wide back seat, Nightrunner jumped into the equally ornate singular front seat of the vehicle's oval shaped cockpit. Strangely enough, the control center where he made preparations to abscond with my bride lacked a glass shield. The only thing stopping me from rescuing Gruoch was my own fear and time itself. At this point, I had none to waste.

"We have a stowaway in our midst, Lady Macbeth," ever the comedian, Ramnarine glanced behind him as he detected my clumsy landing upon his hovering mystery machine, "someone should tell him…" I battled to keep my balance as I felt the hovering aircraft jerk forward slightly, grabbing on to one of the fins for support, "Two's company. Three's a crowd!" adding to his exclamation point, he pressed a red button on the control panel before him initiating a strange phenomena around him and Gruoch.

An enigmatic liquid gel slowly rose from oval ring around the cockpit; gradually solidifying into what I predicted would become a protective glass dome if I didn't act fast. At the same time the aircraft began to move forward gradually, moving away from the castle and gaining speed by the second. Before the momentum became too great, I threw myself towards the front of the arrowhead as the hardening gel reached its apex at the peak of the forming cockpit dome. With a hole no bigger than a softball at the top of the now-rapidly closing shield and with no more seconds to spare, I had come to a split-second decision.

In a cold-sweat, Gruoch awoke abruptly upon the back seat, facing up towards the sunset sky racing above her at incredible speeds the likes of which she had never witnessed before. However, it soon came to her attention that there was something else much closer than the clouds above that she should be concerned with.

"Lennox!!!" I could barely hear her cry as the wind of travelling at almost mach speed battering me robbed me of most of my hearing. I could see her clearly through the glass as my arm was caught at the top of the dome and the glass sealed around my elbow. The pressure of the glass closing in was excruciating, but at that moment, it was the only thing keeping my affixed to the aircraft that seemed intent on torturing me with pure velocity. With rage filled eyes, I can see her attention turn to Ramnarine, who she finally notices when she hears his voice.

"I suggest you take this moment to remember him, milady," Ramnarine advised as he gripped the controls of the arrowhead, "this is the last memory you will have your husband."

"What?!" her attention returned to me once again as she quickly took my hand. Despite the agonizing breeze hindering my sight, I could see the rivers of tears flowing from her sparkling blue eyes as the warmth of her touch became the only moment of relief I experienced throughout this entire debacle. She was the eye of the storm in my life, and had always been. Now and forever, "Please, don't do this!" I could hear her begging as she held my hand near her face, her warm tears running across my skin.

"Fare thee well, King of Scotland," I could spot Ramnarine glancing back before applying his death blow, "Alba Gu Brath…"

The shock of aircraft's thrust forward, threw Grouch violently back into the seat, but her grip on my wrist did not relent. Despite the forces placed upon her by gravity she was able to look up at me one last time, as the sky melted away into a stream of colors, dissolving her loving husband with it. As the end swiftly arrived, her terrified screams were the last thing I could hear.

The echo from her fading voice rang in my ears as a bright light obscured my vision. My eyes fluttered open to endure the one ray of sunlight that managed to pierce through the onyx-leaved tree that I awoke to find myself under. When I brought myself to sit up, it was within the bed of azure roses that Jasmine had created atop her grave when I encountered her ethereal form hours before.

Had it been only hours? For all I know, it could have been days. The sound of my churning stomach had become unbearable as I slowly rose to my feet, suddenly realizing that during all my time here that I hadn't eaten anything. As I stepped off of the enigmatic grave of Jasmine, I turned around to face it, still under the shade of the now-blackened leaves of the tree she had been buried. A chill ran down my spine as the flowers that my slumber had crushed has risen back to life as the bed shimmered with an spiritual aura.

I had far surpassed my quota of unnerving events for one day, finding myself warily stepping backwards and away from Jasmine's resting place, moving from underneath the shade and into sunlight. I couldn't shake the sensation that I was being watched as I moved into the open, observing my surroundings to spy who might have been spying me. However, just as my eyes that returned to the fallen maiden's grave marker, a blur launched from the onyx foliage of the heights of the tree. It was entirely too large to be a bird and was descending fast, barreling right for me. Whatever little was left of my grogginess from my nightmare quickly departed my mind as I prepared for this new challenge in the land of Nightrunner.

Landing perfectly on all fours was a figure - a human crouched touching down with the nimbleness of a cat and donned in a unique tight-fitting armor that was a black as the leaves of the tree it had spawned from. It had covered every inch of the stranger's body and while hunched over I couldn't decipher whether this person was male or female. Upon the strangers back, immediately took notice of two katanas crossed and in sheaths as the mysterious figure stood. Realizing the danger, I reached in reflex for the mystical sword that I had become so attached to in such a short time, only to have my hand reach for vacant space by my hip as I remembered that the Masamune had abandoned me.

"You have lost the sword's respect..." a voice, strange, yet familiar, emanated from the rising stranger. The voice was definitively male but carried a synthesized tone to as I expected to see the face of the man in front of me when he became upright. To my surprise, I was met with my own reflection, glancing upon the chrome mask of the mysterious and slender stranger's helmet, "but I am here to help you get it back."

I had thought that the stranger's digitized voice rang a bell, but then the truth behind it hit me. The voice the stranger had spoken with, was my own.

"Who are you?" as atypical of it for me to ask, in my shock of his sudden appearance, I couldn't help it. Suddenly, stretching out his arm towards me, another sheathed katana materialized within the grasp of his clenched fist. Although it wasn't the Masamune, it was still familiar to me, appearing to be the same sword I acquired for Nightrunner when I faced him.

"Your 'teacher', if you have any hope of mastering the Masamune," the stranger was direct as he emulated my voice, "like these swords I carry, I am known as 'Katana'," stunned, I barely caught the Prism-bladed sword when he quickly tossed it into my chest, "but you will call me 'sensei'-" with machine-like efficiency and blinding speed, "Katana" drew one of the swords blades from the sheaths strapped to his back, positioning himself for battle.

"Your training begins NOW!" darting at me as I managed to remove the sheath from my own sword, Katana wasted no time initiating this unwitting student into his curriculum.


End file.
